


one way ticket to another life

by starboykeith



Series: SHEITH MONTH 2017 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Child Abuse, Domestic Fluff, Feeding, First Time, Fluff, Hades/Persephone AU, M/M, Marriage, Mild Angst, Sexual Content, Sheith Month 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: It was whispered by the humans, by the deities, that the god of death was a horror; selfish and cruel, and emblematic of all that lives beneath the earth, of faded morality and the cold claws of cruelty.One might say that Keith considered the god of death to be an angel.





	one way ticket to another life

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt 'hades' for day two of sheith month 2017
> 
> holy fuck. i went way harder on this than i needed to because i have no self control, but this is one of my favourite things i've ever written
> 
> child abuse tag is for zarkon's treatment of keith
> 
>  
> 
> **you can use the line breaks as chapter breaks if you'd like. i can't separate this into chapters now as i don't want to disrupt the comments etc - but please note it's a long fic and not something you have to consume all in one go!**
> 
>  
> 
> title from land of all by woodkid

Keith hadn't meant to stray so far from the cottage. He'd wanted to escape - to feel the wind in his hair, grass under his feet - but he had never meant to come so far that he'd left Zarkon's lands behind long ago. Now Keith is in unfamiliar country, land that breathes and thrives in abandon, free of the stranglehold Zarkon holds on his. The air feels cleaner, purer, and Keith breathes deeply of it, hands trailing through flowers and grasses as he wanders and wanders and eventually comes to rest at the foot of a great oak, its branches extending like arms reaching to the sky in prayer.   
  
The sun is high in the sky, and Keith feels safe in the knowledge that he has hours before his father's return; Zarkon is on Earth, tending to the humans' fields, and though he complains of it often he does his job well, as it would not do for the god of grain and harvest to be inattentive to those whose livelihood he is charged with. It is not about the humans, Keith knows: it is about Zarkon's pride, his concern for his reputation, the wish to be seen as _better_ , despite the inherent worship and praise that comes from being a god.   
  
Everything Zarkon does is a little too much, from the way he impresses the humans to how he keeps Keith like a flower under a glass jar. Their cottage is well-kept, full of light and life with plants trailing along the windowsills, and even Zarkon cannot remain an angry cloud when he returns home to the beauty of it all.   
  
Keith's cage is beautiful, but that does not mean it is not a cage.   
  
He can count on one hand the number of times he has been given free roam of the lands; he can count on two hands the number of times he has left the cottage with Zarkon by his side. Zarkon keeps Keith squirrelled away, cherished but not shown off, as other gods do when they are blessed with a child. Keith has never even met another god. There has always been an excuse not to, and Zarkon has stifled even himself as the years wore on; he only leaves to tend to his human charges, speaks little of his fellow gods, and visits them only rarely. Keith has grown to despise his father over the years, and he pretends with a weary smile that all is right between them, that he finds no fault in his gilded cage even as an adult.   
  
But Keith does not wish to dwell on Zarkon, and so he looks to the sky, a jewel-bright expanse of cloudless blue. His eyes close after a while, lulled by the soft breeze and swaying flowers and the whispers of the oak tree, and so it frightens Keith immeasurably when that quiet peace is broken by a sound that cracks the sky open.   
  
Keith jerks upright, pressing himself closer to the oak in his fear, and then the earth cracks too, opening its wide maw and exposing splintered teeth of tree roots and a tongue of rich brown earth.   
  
It widens and widens and Keith can do nothing but stare in awe, in fear as the jaws open wide enough to admit a person, a person of grand stature and dressed all in darkness, seeming to absorb the rays of light Keith had been so thankful for only minutes ago. The man - and it is a man, Keith sees as he raises his head - graces Keith with a nod as he rises from the earth, as though they were merely strangers passing in the street.   
  
His hair is dark, cut close at the sides but not at the top, and he has a forelock spilling over in a smudge of white, the only colour gracing his person. The hand of his right arm is not flesh; it is an indiscernible material, metal that gleams and threatens as it catches the sunlight. His eyes are dark and indeterminable, with sharp features and heavy brows. Keith wonders what he would look like were he smiling, because it is hard to imagine such a severe face open with mirth.   
  
The man's hard expression is fixed on him, and Keith swallows nervously and rises to his feet. This is a man that inspires fear.   
  
He can defend himself, but he dreads the lashing he will receive from Zarkon upon seeing the inevitable bruises and scrapes. Or perhaps a curse, Keith thinks, eyeing the black ensemble. An aura emanates from him, but Keith cannot sense its intention.   
  
"Who are you?"   
  
Keith draws himself up, a fruitless endeavour considering the man's build, for he is much larger than Keith and likely would not view him a challenge, but a defensive move makes Keith feel stronger nonetheless.   
  
"Keith, son of Zarkon, god of grain and harvest."   
  
He ought to introduce himself as the god he is, but Zarkon's name has a stronger connotation, and Keith is afraid to be outside and encountering a stranger.   
  
"I know who Zarkon is," the man says, amused, and then, bluntly, "But you cannot be his son."   
  
Keith blinks, for that had been the last thing he expected to hear. "Excuse me?"   
  
"The god of harvest," says the man slowly, as though talking to a child, "is barren. It is known."   
  
"Who are you?" Keith snaps. He does not believe these lies, but he must know their origin if he is to give them more than a fleeting thought.   
  
Something dark comes into the man's gaze, but only for a moment. He steps closer, and this close Keith can see his eyes are cool grey, molten silver as he regards Keith icily. "Shiro, son of Cronus," he says, with a smile on his lips that says he knows the impact of those words.   
  
And what an impact it is, Keith thinks in horror, taking an impulsive step back, as though he could ever outrun the god of death, of the underworld, of all horrors that have been cleansed from the earth.   
  
"You may know me as Hades," Shiro says carelessly.   
  
"I know of you," Keith says hesitantly. He should not be here. He should have stayed in the cottage. Perhaps Zarkon was right: there _is_  danger on the outside.   
  
No, Keith thinks resolutely. He will be trapped no longer. It is bad luck indeed to cross the god of death on his first traitorous outing into the world, but Keith will not bow to him.   
  
Hades, he who rules the dead; Keith has heard a great many things. Rumours and tales fly from the tongues of those who believe they know him, gods and humans alike, and when the man is not present in the land of the living to defend himself, it is easy to fall prey to the yarns spun about him - that he is evil, corrupt; that he takes joy in the sufferings of others; that his lair is cold and dark like the man himself.   
  
"Zarkon would be displeased with your presence here," Shiro says, tone almost thoughtful as he considers Keith.   
  
Keith has to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact when Shiro steps closer, but he refuses to back down. "I don't care what Zarkon wants," he says, defiant. "I am here of my own accord."   
  
"You are?" Shiro sounds amused. "Do you know this is my land?"   
  
His statement gives Keith pause, for if Keith has overstepped his boundaries and trespassed on another's territory, Zarkon will be the least of his concerns. "I did not," he concedes. Perhaps Shiro might be merciful. Keith has heard many a tale about his bitter heart, the ice that seeps from him, that once you cross the god of the underworld you cannot go back, but Keith remains hopeful that he might convince Shiro to let him go. Keith is not without his talents, after all; he is not the best talker, but is sure he could spin a story sorrowful enough that Hades would free him.   
  
"No matter," Shiro says, and it startles Keith so badly that he opens his mouth to disagree, before realising this would only be to his detriment.   
  
"Sit," Shiro adds, and as he turns, his long cloak sweeps the whispering grasses. Keith's gaze moves to follow it, and when he looks, the fabric is scattered with stars, flickers of light that move and dance, and Keith realises that he had been mistaken. The cloak does not absorb light; it reflects it, creates it, and though the black is darker than man-made material makes possible, it glows rather than destroys, and leaves lightness of heart in its wake. Keith sits and watches with some hesitation, and Shiro turns back to him.   
  
Held between his fingers is the long stem of a white lily.   
  
It was said - it was _known_  - that any living thing Hades touched withered and died, crumbled at his touch and fell into dust where it stood. But Shiro stands before him, holding a delicate flower like it is the most precious item in all the world, offering it to _Keith_.   
  
Keith's eyes widen, and he reaches without conscious thought.   
  
If that was a lie, Keith thinks, then what other knowledge about Hades might be an untruth? Did anyone truly know him at all?   
  
Their fingers brush as Keith takes the lily, and Keith cannot help his sharp intake of breath - not of blushing affection, but of lingering fear that he might turn to dust at Shiro's touch. Shiro's eyes flash as though he knows of Keith's apprehension, but he does not comment.   
  
"Thank you," Keith says quietly, almost awed as he twirls the stem between his fingers. He wonders what will happen when he brings it home, if the lily will whisper to Zarkon of its origin, of what it had witnessed. Keith had seen Zarkon speak to nature before, but he did not know if nature graced the god with a reply.   
  
Shiro sits beside him on the old oak, and Keith can sense his aura again, something tangible and yet not, as if Keith could reach out his hand and run his fingers through it like water in a stream. Not a shadow, or a choking smog; it is something soft, malleable, seeking to protect rather than to hurt.   
  
"I suppose you have heard tale of me," Shiro says.   
  
Keith is afraid to meet his gaze, for a moment, but when he finally dares to raise his eyes, Shiro's expression is open, earnest like his voice as he proffers a thread of conversation.   
  
There are many ways Keith envisioned his first excursion, but spending time with the god of death had never crossed his mind.   
  
"Of course," Keith says, but he regrets his words; nothing spoken of Hades is positive, and Keith does not wish to relay the words of poisonous tongues to their very subject.   
  
"Speak your mind," Shiro says then, and there is a wry twist to his lips, as though he knows. Of course he knows, Keith thinks. His reach extends beyond life itself. "You will not wound me, I promise."   
  
Words spoken of Hades were not merely tales. Children learned lies at their mother's knee, for Hades was the monster under their beds, waiting to snatch them away and forever trap them in the underworld, silver tongue winding devious schemes of trickery to ensure they built their prisons themselves. Eating vegetables was far preferable to becoming a wailing spirit, but even as children grew older they feared Hades, whether he was the shadow lurking in the corner or the true death that awaited them all, coming to collect what he was due with a ticking clock and razor-sharp smile.   
  
Keith had read books of talons like hooks latching onto the unwitting's shoulders, bearing them away to the underworld on the beats of great black wings, and there the dead's screams ring out like church bells, celebrating each new acquisition with all the fascination of having a new body filling their ranks.   
  
Perhaps the dead would rise one day - say the wailing infants in their cribs; say the whispering teenagers over campfires; say the too-careless adults over too many drinks - perhaps they will rise, with Hades as leader, a god in his long black cloak like the road to hell and his eyes empty and cavernous like his heart, and they will do his bidding with glee and mirth because the dead are lost to us now, minds turned by the eternal corruption of Hades against the living, who they no longer recognise - it is the dead who shall live on, and Hades shall reign.   
  
Zeus! the humans will cry, the first to fall; Zeus! the gods will cry, the last to fall - but even Zeus has no power over the army of the dead.   
  
Shiro listens to Keith speak with nothing more than a wry smile, and when Keith pauses to take a breath says, "You tell their stories well."   
  
"Thank you, my lord," Keith says. His heart races, but Shiro is true to his word; he is not wounded, or offended, and he has not turned his legendary rage upon Keith. He sits with an amused expression and trails his fingers amongst the flowers, and it is not an image of Hades that has ever graced Keith's history books.   
  
"I am not interested in human stories, or the fears of my brethren," Shiro says, and Keith lowers his head, for though he is not human, it is he who has wasted Hades' time with their lies. Shiro places one finger under Keith's chin and tilts his face up. "It is your story that interests me, dear one."   
  
The touch brings heat to Keith's cheeks, and he is embarrassed further for turning the colour of his tunic, a deep red Zarkon named as that of the poppies which bloom in the summer.   
  
"There is not much to tell," he manages, and he is not playing coy; there is little Keith knows but his own four walls and the crops swaying in the field.   
  
"How fares Zarkon?" Shiro presses, and his lip curls in distaste as the name leaves his tongue. There is bad blood there, Keith senses.   
  
Keith's eyes dip to his lap for a moment. "He worsens." When he raises his head, Shiro's gaze is concerned, but not surprised. "He becomes more stifling with every passing day, and he foregoes visits with gods to lock us in tighter." Keith's throat feels dry with nerves, but he continues, "This is the first time I have ventured beyond our land."   
  
Shiro laughs. "And so you have come to mine," he says with a sweeping gesture.   
  
Keith had heard tale that Hades' territory was black and barren, populated by creaking bent trees and man-eating crows, a place not unlike the rumours of the underworld. But Keith had found nothing but proud flowers and flourishing streams for a long time before he had happened upon the oak, and never would it have crossed his mind that such beautiful country was nurtured by the god of death.   
  
"It is beautiful," he says honestly, and receives a breathtaking smile.   
  
"How fitting that you should have come upon it, then," Shiro says, and Keith realises he is being flattered. A warmth flows through him, and he struggles for a fitting response.   
  
But he remembers Shiro's first, biting remark about Zarkon, and assures he will not be deterred by kind words. It is true Keith does not care for Zarkon, but his father is the one constant in his life. Hades himself cannot presume to claw that down without reason.   
  
"Zarkon," Keith says, and Shiro's expression darkens again. "You said he could not be my father."   
  
Shiro sounds bored. "He is barren."   
  
"He is all I have," Keith returns icily.   
  
"That does not have to be so," Shiro says quietly, but he continues before Keith can respond. "I know not the circumstances of your birth, but Zarkon's infertility remains fact."   
  
It is not always the circumstances of one's birth that decides their father, Keith knows, but Zarkon treats him less like a son and more like a treasured object, high on a pedestal and out of reach of everyone, even himself.   
  
If it were to be true - and Keith has reason to doubt Shiro, but he has reason to suspect Zarkon, too - Keith cannot say truthfully that he is surprised. All that shocks him is his own great detachment - when did Zarkon grow so distant that their family connection could be severed without Keith blinking an eye?   
  
"It must be difficult," Shiro starts, perhaps sensing he has wronged Keith, but Keith interrupts.   
  
"It is of little importance," he says firmly. He takes the lily from his lap; strokes its delicate petals with a gentle finger, awed. The plants in their home are all vines, twisting around candlesticks and winding along windowpanes, choking the life from household objects, but the lily Shiro had given him is singular, tall and proud.   
  
"You are strong," Shiro says, but it is not a reassurance; it is an acknowledgement, and it pleases Keith far more than it would have if Shiro was merely trying to appeal to his ego.   
  
"Yes," Keith says, warm. There is silence for a while, but it rests easily in the air; does not hang heavy or demand attention.   
  
"I planted this oak myself," Shiro says suddenly, and Keith spares a moment to look up, up, up - at the oak which raises hands to the sky, reaching for the gods.   
  
"What for?"   
  
Shiro shrugs. "A new start."   
  
"Perhaps I should plant an oak tree," Keith muses, and Shiro laughs. He holds out his hand suddenly and an acorn drops into his palm, startling Keith.   
  
Shiro extends his hand to Keith next, and when he reaches out, Shiro takes his hand, pressing the acorn into Keith's palm and covering Keith's hand with his own.   
  
"For your fresh start," he says meaningfully, eyes heavy with something Keith does not recognise. Shiro's hand is so warm, not the cold grasp of death as had been rumoured, and Keith realises he had not flinched when Shiro touched him.   
  
"Thank you," Keith says slowly, and Shiro takes his hand back after a long moment. "I will begin with new friends." He smiles at Shiro, and Shiro looks taken aback before hastily returning it.   
  
"You honour me," Shiro says, and Keith is sure he must be imagining the flush to Shiro's cheeks.   
  
They while away the hours, though they do not feel like hours: Keith only realises he ought to return home when he notices the sun low in the sky, thickening with clouds of pink and red, and Keith is frightened for a moment, as Zarkon returns at sunset.   
  
"I must go," he says reluctantly. The shine in Shiro's eyes as he spoke vanishes in an instant.   
  
"So soon?" Shiro's disappointment is palpable, and Keith feels a flutter in his heart.   
  
"It has been many hours," Keith points out as he stands, and a slow smile graces Shiro's face. "Zarkon does not know I have left our home."   
  
"Are you safe?" asks Shiro.   
  
The question brings Keith to a halt, and he blinks, because Shiro _cares_ , truly, and it makes the weight on Keith's shoulders lighter with the knowledge.   
  
"I am," Keith says carefully. As long as he returns on time, and as long as there is no trace of him having left the confines of their field.   
  
Shiro stands, towering over Keith, but his shadow casts no fear upon Keith this time, and a smile comes easily to him.   
  
"May I see you again?" Shiro asks, and Keith's breath stutters in his chest.   
  
_The god of death_ , Keith thinks, staring up at him. _Whoever could have imagined this?_  
  
"Yes," Keith says, and something in Shiro relaxes. "Will you - be here?"   
  
"I will come," Shiro promises, and there is a smile curling his lips.   
  
Keith only hopes he will have the nerve tomorrow to escape for a second time.

 

* * *

 

He returns home to an empty house, light fading as the sun falls beneath the horizon, and Zarkon arrives not five minutes later, while Keith is still flushed from rushing through the fields in hopes of arriving on time.   
  
Zarkon cups Keith's cheek, and Keith jerks away. "Darkness has touched you," Zarkon says, looking deep into his face, and Keith inhales, wondering what he sees; if he sees the shadow of death reflected in his eyes.   
  
"What is it, father?" Keith asks dutifully, and Zarkon's lip curls.   
  
"I do not know," he says. "Perhaps I ought to stay home tomorrow, to ensure your safety - "  
  
"No!" Keith blurts out, seized by panic that Zarkon will deprive him of the chance to see Shiro again. "Rather," he corrects, painfully aware that suspicious behaviour will incline Zarkon toward disbelieving him, "I am fine. Perhaps an illness, or something in the air. There is no need to abandon your charges."   
  
"I am abandoning no one," Zarkon says hotly, and Keith silently congratulates himself on his choice of words: Zarkon is nothing if not loyal to his cause, to the humans for whom he is responsible. "Assure me you will remain indoors, and rest. I do not wish to expose you further; the outdoors - even our own land - is a dangerous and unpredictable habitat, and I do not trust you to it."   
  
"Yes, father," Keith says obediently.   
  
Zarkon leaves the next day at sunrise, and Keith leaves shortly after.   
  
He brings food this time - fruit, and bread - for he had arrived home famished yesterday, and Zarkon had noticed the relish with which Keith ate evening meal, deeming it another sign of the 'darkness' infesting him.   
  
Keith wonders what Shiro eats, in the underworld; if they grow their own food, perhaps. _Can life flourish in the land of death?_ he wonders.   
  
Another day passes in a flurry of fast-beating hearts and warmth and bright smiles, and Keith comes back the next day, and the next, pretending to his father that he has remained home, dutiful and obedient.   
  
Keith quickly finds his most treasured days are those spent with Shiro. He and Shiro grow closer, and each time Keith manages to make him laugh is a precious moment, for Keith finds Shiro beautiful and even moreso when he laughs, full-body and loud with a wide smile. Sometimes Keith wonders if it has been a while since Shiro has had someone to make him smile and laugh, for there is always an element of surprise in his expression when he does.   
  
Shiro kisses him on a warm summer day. Bees are buzzing, the hum of a light breeze whispers to them, and Shiro's hand is on Keith's cheek, pressing their lips together. Keith puts his hand on Shiro's waist and clumsily kisses back and thinks _oh_ , for it is as if the universe has waited for them to find this moment, entwined together among the flowers and the trees and clinging to each other as though they wish to never let go.   
  
They move to sit cross-legged, facing each other and unable to help foolish smiles blooming on their faces. Keith does not wish to speak, for he knows he would disrupt the moment in some way, but Shiro finds the words.   
  
"I have wanted to do that for a long time," he says, and the depth of emotion in his voice makes Keith look away, flush rising to his cheeks.   
  
"Yes," he says and, sensing it is not enough, adds, "I have wanted the same."   
  
Shiro's smile is warm as he takes Keith's hand, and Keith thinks he could fall in love as easily as the sun rises each morning, eternal and without fail. 

 

* * *

 

It is raining the day Shiro asks Keith to the underworld for the first time.   
  
Keith is out of breath from running, rain pounding down all around him and hair soaked flat to his head. Shiro is the same, wiping his hair from his forehead under the tree that provides little cover, leaves tipping water onto them the longer they stand.   
  
It makes Shiro look human, Keith thinks.   
  
"I worried you would not come," Shiro says, and Keith takes Shiro's face in his hands and kisses him.   
  
"Never," he says firmly.   
  
"Though perhaps we should not remain outside," Shiro says, and suddenly he looks bashful. "I have been meaning for a while to ask - I wondered if you might like to visit the underworld with me."   
  
Keith blinks.   
  
He has been disparaged of many notions since coming to know Shiro - that Hades is cruel and cold; that his hands bring nothing but dust and death; that he wishes nothing more than the destruction of the earth and the skies to collect fodder for his army - but Shiro talks little of his domain, and still all Keith knows is what he has been told.   
  
The underworld is cruel and dark, say the humans, say the gods; it is a place of sorrow and misery and the screams of the dead, whom Hades has no compassion for; they are his charges but he does not care for them, choosing instead to lock them in eternity and prevent them from escape, for no one who has seen the inside of the underworld has ever emerged.   
  
Like Hades' land on earth, say the humans, say the gods, the underworld is black and barren, populated by creaking bones and howling monsters and ghosts merely a whisper on the wind, for though they inhabit the land of the dead no life is worse than that dictated by Hades, spent in a realm where happiness and life is drawn from inhabitants like blood into a needle, where Hades keeps the fruits of their labour for himself.   
  
But Keith cannot believe in that, after all he has seen: Shiro is warm, and kind, and _good_ , and he has never treated Keith with cruelty and without kindness. Keith cannot conceive of the fact that the Hades he has learned of and Shiro whom he has come to know are the same person.   
  
Shiro looks uncertain, an uncommon expression to see upon his face, as Shiro always appears confident, projecting strength in his manner as though it is the single constant upon which he revolves. It is revealing to Keith that Shiro would allow himself to appear weak before him.   
  
"I would like that," Keith says, "very much."   
  
The jaws of the earth do not frighten Keith when Shiro directs them open for him, this time. The sound still cracks the sky open, creating an echo like the thunder already plaguing the skies, and Keith is still awed at the sight of undergrowth coming apart like torn fabric under Shiro's command, but there is no fear with Shiro's hand held tightly in his.   
  
The earth opens wide enough to admit two people, and Keith steps forward when Shiro encourages him, apprehensive as he enters a cavernous stone corridor but confident with Shiro at his back, who moves to walk beside Keith when the path opens up further.   
  
It is cold, colder still because they are soaked with chill seeping into their bones, but the way is lit with torches burning on the walls, illuminating a passage that seems to stretch forever.  
  
"Is it far?" Keith asks nervously, for he is wary of what lies ahead. It is frustrating to be afraid of the underworld yet trust Shiro absolutely; to know that the tales cannot be true yet also unable to banish images of wailing spirits and trapped souls.   
  
"No," Shiro says, and he squeezes Keith's hand. "Do not be afraid."   
  
"I am not," Keith lies.   
  
Shiro's smile is self-deprecating. "When you are with me, no harm shall come to you." Keith looks up at him. "I promise, Keith."   
  
They lapse into silence as they walk, and though it is comfortable, Shiro seems to find it difficult. Keith loves to listen to Shiro talk, but Shiro seems - nervous?   
  
"This path leads to the castle," he blurts out first, and then he is silent long enough that Keith nods at him to continue. "You will not - I assure you there will be no damned souls, or tortured spirits, or some nightmare you are imagining from the stories. It is a safe place."   
  
An abrupt guilt washes over Keith, for he has given Shiro the impression that he is fearful and dreads the place Shiro calls home, that he pays attention to dreadful tales over the word of someone he holds dear and whom holds him dear in return.   
  
"I trust you, Shiro," Keith says, and he stops to embrace him. Shiro clings to his shoulders, and Keith holds him tightly.   
  
He wonders how long Shiro has been thinking of showing Keith his home; if he had been nervous or scared; if regret had plagued him at the sight of Keith's reluctance. It must have taken much for Shiro to extend this invitation, and Keith is determined to be grateful, no matter his opinion.   
  
But it turns out his fears were unfounded, for when the path finally comes to an end, it does not open onto barren plains and haunted, crumbling stone structures. As assured by Shiro, they enter a castle, and it breathes life and warmth. The rain lifts from their clothes and Keith feels lighter, almost, as they step into a well-maintained entrance hall, the floors of which are marbled and gleaming, lending an ethereal quality to the room. Light spills in rays from huge windows placed high in each wall, and Keith marvels at the display, head tipped up to see as far as he can.   
  
"But you have no sun," he says.   
  
"There is light," Shiro informs him, amused. "We do not scurry in the darkness like rats."   
  
"I did not believe you did," Keith admonishes, and Shiro laughs, though his hands are clasped and there is a furrow between his brows that speaks of apprehension. Keith turns from his wonder at the regality of the tall windows and goes to Shiro, taking his hands.   
  
"You have a beautiful home, Shiro," Keith says truthfully, and Shiro breaks into a smile at last.   
  
"Come," he says, and Keith follows him as he approaches an impressive door, heavy and oak and creaking as Shiro pushes it open. "You shall have the grand tour."   
  
And grand it is, Keith thinks. Shiro takes him through an impressive series of rooms - the dining hall, a bedroom, onto a balcony where Keith catches a brief glimpse of a garden - and ends in the library, where Keith is struck speechless by the sheer enormity of it, for Shiro must have _hundreds_  of books lining the walls, with vibrant covers that beckon Keith closer in fascination. He runs his fingers over the spines of those he recognises and those he doesn't, and there is a soft expression on Shiro's face when Keith turns back to him.   
  
"They're beautiful," Keith says, awed. "And you have so many."   
  
"You are welcome to them any time," Shiro says. He hesitates. "Would you like to dine with me?"   
  
Shiro's nerves almost prompt an immediate response from Keith, but he pauses, too. "I cannot eat from your world," Keith ventures. "Truthfully, it is a rumour I have heard, but..."   
  
"It is true," Shiro acknowledges. "But I have made arrangements for you - you shall eat of Earth's food, I promise."   
  
Keith feels touched that Shiro had thought of him, and he stands on his toes to press a kiss to Shiro's cheek.   
  
"Let us go, then," Shiro says, and he takes Keith's hand and leads him to the dining hall.   
  
There is a tablecloth upon the table now, white and embellished with the finest gold needlework Keith has ever seen. In the centre lies an arrangement of flowers: gardenias, Keith realises - meaning joy, and good luck.   
  
Gardenias also symbolise sweet love, Keith thinks cautiously, and it takes his breath away to think that Shiro might -   
  
There is a dull flush to Shiro's cheeks when Keith turns to him, unable to help his smile.   
  
"I told them not to make a fuss," Shiro mutters, hand tightening on Keith's.   
  
"It is lovely," Keith says firmly. "You honour me with the invitation to your home and to your table."   
  
"It is not much compared to the Earth palaces of the gods," Shiro says bashfully, and Keith squeezes his hand.   
  
"Well," he says determinedly, "yours is the most beautiful I have laid eyes upon." Shiro smiles, and Keith presses on, "Besides, no matter its beauty, there is no place I would rather be than here."   
  
Something passes over Shiro's face then - something curious, something thoughtful - but it is gone before Keith can think on it further, and he quickly forgets the moment.   
  
It is nice, to sit across from Shiro at a dining table; to talk and laugh and eat and simply _be_ , without fear of discovery or it being too much, for Keith knows the significance of Shiro inviting him into his home, and it is not one without weight.   
  
This is a new stair they have climbed, Keith thinks, and he is glad, for when he looks down there is nothing but darkness and the draining monotony of his life, before; repetitive days in a home of Zarkon's making, not of Keith's. But when he looks up - there is hope, the promise of something, beckoning and just out of reach, but it whispers of new beginnings and happiness sweeter than Keith has ever known.   
  
"Gardenias," Keith says tentatively, when they are eating the main course and he is on his second cup of wine, "mean joy and luck and - sweet love."   
  
"So they do," Shiro says, and his head is bowed, ears burning red.   
  
Keith waits expectantly, eyes trained on Shiro, and when Shiro raises his head his eyes are dark, burning into Keith. Keith shivers and wonders suddenly which of them is the moth and which is the flame.   
  
"I did not choose them," Shiro says, and Keith is almost disappointed, but, "though I suppose my people are more observant than I give them credit for."   
  
Keith's breath hitches, and Shiro smiles at him. He cannot think of how to reply, but their silence is comfortable, returning to conversation when dessert is served and Keith asks more of Shiro about his realm, his people, what he does in the day.   
  
They drink deeply of wine, and Keith feels light, unburdened of the weight of his sins and his fears and the crush of Zarkon's expectations. Shiro does not mention Zarkon, and Keith finds freedom in not speaking his name; in enjoying Shiro's company in a place where they both feel safe.   
  
Late afternoon finds them in one of the spacious living rooms, entwined together upon a sofa and trading kisses in the glowing light. Keith feels overwhelmed, moans startled from his lips as Shiro kisses him, moving from Keith's mouth to his neck, and the sensation makes Keith's head tip back, fingers curling into Shiro's shirt and clinging tightly, wanting him closer, closer still, so that they may never be parted again.   
  
They take the kisses no further, no matter the curling of heat in Keith's belly when their tongues slide together, when Shiro's hand touches his bare waist, and it saddens Keith beyond measure when Shiro gently tells him, "It is time for you to return."   
  
It is not Shiro's wish, Keith knows; merely that it nears sunset, and Zarkon will be returning, expecting Keith to be at home, the dutiful son.   
  
The thought curves Keith's lips in a derisive smile, and he presses himself closer to Shiro so he will not be seen delighting in mockery.   
  
"I do not wish to return," Keith says, and the words are childish to him as soon as he speaks them, but he cannot bring himself to regret it. "I wish not to remain a prisoner in Zarkon's home."   
  
"A beautiful cage," Shiro murmurs, pressing his lips to Keith's hair, and Keith closes his eyes.   
  
"Yes," he says, and suddenly all of the lightness is vanished from his body; all that remains is bone-deep exhaustion, and Keith finds himself blinking back tears so Shiro cannot see them. It is hard to pull himself from the cradle of Shiro's arms and stand, and Keith feels cold when he does.   
  
"Keith," says Shiro suddenly, and takes Keith's hands in his as he rises. "You have a home here, if you so desire it."   
  
Keith's breath catches, involuntary and painfully audible, bringing a brief smile to Shiro's lips as he studies Keith's face. "There is no obligation," he adds earnestly. "I only wished to extend the offer, because..."   
  
"You do love me," Keith realises, and it is the hitching of Shiro's breath that fills the room this time.   
  
"I do," Shiro says, quiet. "I love you more than anything in the sky, sea or underworld; more than I had ever fathomed I could love another being. I would bring you here and marry you, and do everything in my power to ensure you would never want for anything."   
  
"I love you," Keith echoes, shocked, and tears sting his eyes again, but there is a smile curving his lips as he leans up to kiss Shiro. Shiro's hands slide to his hips, and it is only the chiming of a clock that breaks them apart, for Keith must leave, no matter the chill that climbs him as he and Shiro separate.   
  
He feels cold, too, as he and Shiro stand in the setting sun under the oak tree, despite the warmth heavy in the air; it is with one final embrace that Keith turns to go, and Shiro watches him with eyes full of sorrow.   
  
"I will think on it," Keith promises.   
  
He has never experienced change. Keith has lived all his life in one place, in one household, and he is afraid of the upheaval. It would not be betrayal for him to leave Zarkon, as Zarkon holds no claim to him, but Keith feels a sick feeling in his stomach at the very thought; he is too soft, he thinks, too loyal to a man who has stolen his life and caged it between four walls.   
  
Is it loyalty to Zarkon that keeps Keith at his side, he wonders, or is it Keith's own fear of the unknown?   
  
The sun has almost sunk below the horizon by the time Keith is running across his field, and his heart is in his throat, thudding uncomfortably with exertion and panic.   
  
He arrives home after Zarkon does.   
  
Zarkon's eyes are alight with dark fury when Keith bursts in the door, his father immediately standing from the table and saying in a calm, controlled voice that truly belies the depth of his anger, "Where have you been?"   
  
He never shouts, or raises his voice; Zarkon always remains deceptively quiet in a way that can delude his target into believing they have escaped, that he does not blame them, but this is a falsehood. Keith can see it in the flush of his face, the fingers curled into fists at his sides - Zarkon will not let this go.   
  
Keith swallows and breathes deeply, determined not to show weakness. His heart aches for the home he had just left. The warmth brought to his body from the wine evaporates in an instant.   
  
"Outside," he says. This will get him in trouble enough; Keith does not even want to consider how Zarkon would react had he known his only son filled his days with the god of death.   
  
Zarkon looks pained, but Keith cannot suffer guilt for the feigned compassion. Zarkon's anger comes from the part of him that wishes to cage Keith like a bird, like a butterfly pinned to a wall, to feel satisfaction in keeping his possession safe.   
  
"I was safe," Keith adds, thinking of lying in Shiro's arms.   
  
"Outside is never safe," snaps Zarkon. "What were you _thinking_?"   
  
"It is light outside," says Keith. "It is warm, and beautiful, and I wished to experience more of the world than these four walls."   
  
It is a true statement, for Keith _had_  merely wished to leave his prison, just for a while. It was luck that had him meet Shiro under the oak.   
  
"You shall not leave these four walls again," Zarkon condemns, and it sinks an arrow into Keith's heart.   
  
"Father," Keith starts, foolishly intending to appeal to Zarkon's instincts, but it is not paternity which drives Zarkon; it is greed, possession, the desire to covet what is his.   
  
But Keith is not Zarkon's, Keith thinks, a warmth blooming in his chest, for he is Shiro's, now.   
  
"Don't," Zarkon says, and there is something strained in his eyes, for he is not Keith's father, and it pains Keith to see it so plainly on his face for the first time since Shiro had told him. "You will remain in your room. I do not wish to hear from you."   
  
Keith straightens and squares his shoulders, but Zarkon makes no move; he expects Keith to blindly obey, Keith realises, like a dog.   
  
He goes because it makes things simpler, takes him out of the gaze of one who has no right to command him at all, allows him to sit at his window and stare at the darkening sky, wondering if Shiro thinks of him as well. 

 

* * *

 

Zarkon leaves before sunrise, and does not usually wake Keith, but today he wakes to Zarkon opening his door. He draws his legs up instinctively, defensive and vulnerable just barely taken from dreams.   
  
"You will not leave today," says Zarkon, and Keith knows Zarkon can stop him, can bind him here, and it is this which leads him to leap from his bed, desperate.   
  
"Please, father, I will remain - "  
  
"Quiet, Keith." Zarkon's gaze is weary and sad, and Keith feels a hatred rise in him like never before when he says, "I am binding the front door. You may eat, but you may not leave."  
  
Keith thinks he might be sick, suddenly aching at the thought of Shiro waiting and waiting while Keith does not come, abandoning him to the crush of loneliness Shiro had felt so plainly before he came across Keith. For Shiro had told him so, under the oak, stroking Keith's hair and murmuring of devotion, of how it was said that the god of death decayed in his kingdom because he had not found his happiness, but Shiro had whispered, tone heavy with the significance of something they had not yet named, "I have found my happiness, now."  
  
Zarkon leaves and Keith cries; hot, frustrated tears that leave him tired but unable to sleep. He wanders the house and touches the plants that seem so unremarkable to him, now; sits at the piano and practises awhile, but it brings him no pleasure to perform like Zarkon's dancing monkey, and the music is soured; opens the drawer in which he keeps the first lily Shiro had given him. It had not wilted, for it had had life breathed into it by a god, and Keith twirls it between his fingers, thinking in misery that it was the only living thing in this house he could stand.   
  
It is a long day, made longer in that Keith has been awake since sunrise, since the sun first peered over the horizon. It rains, for perhaps the clouds can sense Keith's anguish, and Keith stares out of the window at the sodden fields, the plants cowering under the weight of water, the trees dripping waterfalls onto unsuspecting passers-by, and wishes more than anything that he was outside and drowning in the storm.   
  
Keith does not eat, for he feels so hollow that one more emptiness is nothing. He reads, but rereading even his favourite book brings heartache for Shiro's home, for the library which had stretched as far as Keith could see, which Shiro had told Keith he was welcome to and which Keith wished he could go to now, to be wrapped up in the scent of books and pine and Shiro, who would laugh as he plucked books from the shelves Keith could not reach, fond smile upon his face.   
  
It is a foolish hope indeed to wish that Shiro would come for him - to bear Keith away to the underworld and let him just _be_ , surrounded by shadows and happiness - for Shiro would never be so careless with Keith's safety, but Keith cannot help his yearning.   
  
He cannot see the oak from the windows - the glade is very far, and Keith had surprised himself with how far he had ventured, that first time - and he is glad for it when Zarkon approaches and quietly asks what Keith is looking for.   
  
His tone is soft, forgiving, for a day spent with humans is a day spent in patience and kindness, but Keith tenses as Zarkon places a hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Nothing," Keith says, and he shrugs the hand away, turning to face his father.   
  
"Good," says Zarkon, and it makes Keith's lip curl. "You will stay here tomorrow, as well," he says over his shoulder as he enters the kitchen, a throwaway comment that means nothing to him but everything to Keith. He thinks only of Shiro.  
  
"Okay," Keith says numbly.   
  
The next day is spent as the first. Keith stares longingly from the window, stomach empty and growling, heart empty and sad. It rains again, but at midday there is a break in the clouds, and rays of sunshine filter through, casting weak light upon their field, which pleases Zarkon when he arrives home.   
  
"You will stay here tomorrow," says Zarkon.   
  
"Okay," says Keith.   
  
It does not rain, and Keith aches for Shiro more than ever. Perhaps, he thinks, he could prepare something for Shiro when they finally meet again.   
  
His answer.   
  
Keith's will has been strengthened by the three days he has spent in enforced solitude. Where there was lingering affection for Zarkon, there is now only rage, burning at the thought that Zarkon keeps him from the one he loves.   
  
Still, Keith thinks. It is a change. It is abandoning the only home he has ever known.   
  
But it is all Keith has ever wanted, too, and he thinks he might learn what home is with Shiro, if it is the warm bloom in his heart when they are together, the feeling of belonging, the way Shiro's thumb presses into the hollow of his hip. 

 

* * *

 

On the fourth day, Zarkon does not bind the doors.   
  
He must expect Keith to leave, surely, Keith thinks, prodding tentatively at the door and watching it swing open. To think otherwise would make him a fool.   
  
Keith takes hesitant steps from the house. He walks the path that separates their fields. He approaches the gate, and pauses again.   
  
It is Zarkon's mistake to make, Keith decides, and then he is running.   
  
Shiro is not there, and Keith's heart stutters in disappointment, but it is only a moment before Shiro rises from the earth as though summoned and strides towards Keith. There is something fierce in his gaze, but Keith cannot say a word before Shiro is taking Keith's face in his hands and kissing him so deeply he cannot breathe.   
  
"You're here," Shiro breathes when they part, and Keith feels tears welling in his eyes as Shiro presses their foreheads together.   
  
"I'm here," he whispers. Shiro's arms are around his waist, and he reaches to put his arms around Shiro's neck, tugging him closer. "I'm here."   
  
"Will you come with me?" Shiro asks, and the shock of it makes Keith swallow nervously, though he has thought long upon the subject. "Only today," Shiro adds quickly upon his reaction.   
  
"Yes," Keith says, and it is in no time at all that they are walking the passage, Shiro clutching his hand tightly. This time, spirits manifest around them, greeting Keith in tremulous whispers, and Keith finds smiles and greetings for them. The dead are not as jarring as he had thought; there is no malice in their actions, only curiosity.   
  
"Leave us, please," Shiro says. They are seated upon a couch in an opulent sitting room, but Keith hardly registers his surroundings, only the depth of Shiro's eyes. The spirits flicker into nothing, and Keith spares a thought for them, but this is extinguished when Shiro cups his cheek.   
  
"How I have missed you," is all he says, yet it brings tears to Keith's eyes once more. Shiro's eyes are wet. His bottom lip trembles, just a little, and Keith presses his thumb to it until Shiro smiles weakly.   
  
"I missed you," Keith echoes helplessly.   
  
His chosen words churn inside him. _Yes_ , he would like to be with Shiro. _Yes_ , he wishes to make a home of the underworld. _Yes_ , he will leave Zarkon and his cage behind.   
  
But Shiro does not push, does not ask; when he speaks, Keith wonders how he did not realise what Shiro's mind had turned to in his absence.   
  
"I was afraid for you," Shiro says quietly, and an ache blooms in Keith's chest. "I knew not where you had gone, what had happened; I assumed - "   
  
He stops himself, and Keith waits.   
  
"I assumed many things," he finishes.   
  
"I'm sorry," spills unbidden from Keith's lips, and Shiro's expression crumples.   
  
"Do not apologise," he says painfully. "You are not to blame."   
  
Keith nods. He thinks of what to say. "I returned home later than Zarkon," he says eventually, and Shiro closes his eyes briefly.   
  
"Does he know - "   
  
"No." Keith swallows. "It was the mere fact of me venturing outside." Shiro breathes out in a deep sigh. "I was confined to the house, it was - bound shut. I am powerless to his magic."   
  
There is a thunderous noise from above, and the shock of it makes Keith startle, hands coming to clap over his ears before he can help himself.   
  
Shiro looks to be concentrating very hard, and he bites his lip as Keith nervously takes his hands away. "I'm sorry," he says, and that is when Keith connects Shiro's anger to the tumultuous skies visible from the large windows.   
  
"It is you that controls the weather?"   
  
"It is my domain," Shiro says wryly, but he quickly grows solemn once more. When Keith looks at him, he recognises the hard look in Shiro's eyes for the tightly-coiled wrath it is. "I wish there is more I could do for you," Shiro says, and he draws Keith into his arms then. Keith tucks himself beneath Shiro's chin and holds him tightly, for there is nothing to say.   
  
It does not seem the moment to propose that they spend their lives together, and so he remains silent. 

 

* * *

  
  
Shiro does not press Keith on Zarkon, on his opinion, on his offer.   
  
Shiro presses him about his health, and it is later and with a long-suffering sigh that Keith admits he has scarcely eaten, both exasperated and amused when Shiro immediately begins to fuss.   
  
He makes to stand up, but Keith catches his arm.   
  
"Please, may we stay here?" he asks softly, and watches Shiro's resolve weaken.   
  
"You will be fed," Shiro insists, and he speaks quietly to the spirit that appears at his shoulder but does not move, remaining curled around Keith. Keith thinks the spirit is radiating amusement.   
  
Shiro has fruit brought to them on a platter - "Of the Earth," Shiro assures - and Keith can sense something of the spirit that brings it; they are faceless, but Keith feels an awareness of emotion, and instinctively knows this is a skill improved by time, knows it in the way he gains only a muted sense of approval while Shiro smiles like the spirit has told him a secret.   
  
"They like you," Shiro tells him, when Keith asks, and it brings a smile to his face.   
  
Keith blushes when Shiro plucks a blackberry from the platter and holds it to his lips, an offering.   
  
"You do not need to feed me," he murmurs, though he opens his mouth for Shiro and bites down while Shiro reaches for another, spilling rich juices across his tongue.   
  
"I would like to," replies Shiro, quiet and intimate, and he raises a strawberry to Keith's lips. It is embarrassing, to be fed like a child, but comforting too, to have the responsibility taken from him and in the hands of someone who cares.   
  
It is this thought which pushes Keith to blurt out, "Yes."   
  
Shiro looks at him curiously, for he had not asked a question or indeed spoken at all. They merely traded kisses and fruits, and Keith had just placed a blackberry between Shiro's lips.   
  
Keith watches the movement of Shiro's throat as he swallows.   
  
"Yes?" Shiro repeats, cautiously amused. "To what do you refer?"   
  
"You offered me a home," Keith says, so quietly he doubts Shiro would have heard him, had they not been close together like this.   
  
"I did." It is as though Shiro is holding his breath. "I do."   
  
Shiro's fingers are sticky with fruit when he takes Keith's hand in his, but Keith does not mind, for Shiro is gazing at him like he is something precious.   
  
"Keith," Shiro says when Keith does not respond, and it is almost a plea.   
  
"I would make this my home," Keith says, and Shiro exhales, eyes filling with a warmth Keith knows is echoed upon his own face. "I would be yours, if you will have me - "   
  
Keith cannot continue because Shiro is kissing him, the platter in his lap quickly relocated to the low table, and Shiro's kiss is hard and insistent, pressing as if he wishes to leave his mark on Keith, and _he can_ , Keith thinks breathlessly, _he can, I want it more than anything_  -   
  
And they kiss and they kiss, Shiro holding Keith's hand and pressing him down and Keith tears himself away to breathe, hot and overwhelmed by the look in Shiro's eyes, loving and consuming all at once.   
  
"Marry me," Shiro says when they break apart, eyes dark and hair wild from Keith's fingers. "Marry me, will you - "   
  
"Yes," Keith says breathlessly, and then, " _yes_ ," as Shiro ducks to kiss his neck, his collarbone, meeting Keith's lips again only when Keith is panting for it.   
  
They slow after a while, pace easing into slow, deep kisses, eyes fallen shut and hands cupping faces, Shiro's weight atop Keith comforting and safe.   
  
"I love you," Keith says when Shiro stops to breathe, hiding his face in Keith's neck.   
  
"I love you," Shiro echoes, and there is joy in his face when he looks at Keith. "When would you wish to - there is no obligation for it to be soon, but I - when, when were you thinking - "   
  
It is uncommon to see Shiro struggle for words, and it makes Keith smile to see the excited flush upon his cheeks.   
  
Keith thinks of leaving Zarkon, a luxury he had never considered. He thinks of Zarkon returning to an empty house, angry at first and growing confused as _late_  turns into _gone_.   
  
He finds he does not care.   
  
"Tomorrow?"   
  
"Tomorrow," Shiro breathes. 

 

* * *

 

It is bittersweet, returning home to Zarkon when he knows tomorrow he will be freed, but Keith plays his part regardless. Zarkon makes no comment on whether Keith has left the house, but he holds his breath all evening, waiting for a confrontation.   
  
He finds it difficult to sleep, body alight with nerves and excitement, making him toss and turn and stare at the ceiling. But he must fall asleep eventually, for he wakes to the sound of Zarkon leaving the house; birds singing and his heavy curtains outlined in sunlight.   
  
Shiro had said to come early, and so Keith does; walking the fields while they are still fresh with dew, trailing his fingers in the heavy air. It will be a warm day, a bright day, and Keith is glad, for it shall be one he will never forget.   
  
He waits only a moment before Shiro emerges, and the smile on his face is reminiscent of the sun.   
  
"I am afraid I will not see you for a while," Shiro tells him as they walk the passage together. "There are preparations to make."  
  
"We have a lifetime," Keith says, breath stuttering a little at the thought. "I think I will survive being apart from you while we prepare." Shiro shushes him light-heartedly, smiling at the jibe.   
  
The path feels longer today, or perhaps it is just the anticipation burning in Keith's belly; each step feels like a eternity, and Keith is relieved when they finally reach the entrance hall, something in him relaxing at the familiar sight.  
  
They are quickly separated, and Keith finds his elbow taken by a spirit who flickers in and out of his vision, leading him to a great tiled room with the biggest bath Keith has ever seen, filled with water that steams and obscures the gilded mirrors hung on the walls.   
  
The spirit does not speak, but Keith knows suddenly that he is intended to bathe, and the spirit will return for him when it is time to dress. He looks forward to the day he can speak properly with Shiro's people - his own people, now, Keith realises, and the thought brings a smile to his lips.   
  
"Thank you," he says to the spirit, and he thinks it inclines its head.   
  
He had a tub at home, of course, filled with water taken from the well and boiled over the fire, but this is _decadent_ , Keith thinks, for he could almost swim in the depth of this pool. It is a great sorrow to him when he has cleaned himself and has no excuse to remain in the pleasant water, but when he climbs out he discovers oils and perfumes awaiting him on the side.   
  
Keith feels a strange sense of luxury, opening bottles and inhaling aromas he has only experienced of physical objects - floral, woodland, fruit-based scents - and it is an agonising choice to make between them, but when the spirit returns Keith is smooth with oil and modest in a towel left aside the baths for him.   
  
Next he is taken to a smaller room, and Keith shivers at the coolness after having been warmed by the steam, but he is quickly directed to his clothes.   
  
There is a robe waiting for him - white, with silver fastenings, whispering in the light breeze. It is smooth as water as he slides into it, fingers fumbling with the clasps until it sits just right, and a cloak is secured over his shoulders by the spirit, who leaves a lingering caress on Keith's cheek and inexplicably makes Keith smile. Nerves settle in his stomach nevertheless, though there is no regret; only apprehension. Sometimes Keith can hardly believe he is the one lucky enough to have caught the attention of Hades himself.  
  
_Ready?_  comes into Keith's head, a disembodied thought, and he nods and allows himself to be led through an area of the house he has not yet seen.   
  
He understands when they come to large open doors, set with white-framed windows and allowing him a view of the charming garden he had only glimpsed before. Some of the flowers he does not recognise, an inconceivable concept for the son of the god of harvest, but, Keith thinks, he has all the time in the world to learn them.   
  
Shiro is waiting.   
  
He is dressed in white as well, and it is a good colour on him; Keith has never seen him in anything but black. His smile is a mile wide, and with the sight of it Keith feels his nerves dispelling, anticipation and excitement burning there instead. There is impatience, for Keith has never been skilled in waiting to obtain the things he wants, but he knows this gift is greater than any he may have glanced upon before.   
  
The journey from the doors to the great arch of flowers under which Shiro waits seems endless, one foot after another with the spirit half a step behind and to his right, a warming presence. Light comes high in the sky, casting rays upon the stone where Keith finally steps up to stand beside Shiro.   
  
Keith feels the spirit's presence lessen as it moves away, but quickly he realises they are surrounded by beings - flickering in and out of his awareness - all radiating the same sense of pleased pride, directed towards Shiro and washing over Keith. It is a rewarding feeling, the knowledge that Shiro's subjects love him as Keith does.   
  
The ceremony is short. Keith repeats someone else's words to bind them as one, but his words are his own when he says, "I promise to love you for all eternity," and Shiro kneels so Keith can place a silver crown upon his head. He stands, and repeats the ceremonial exchange as well, but Keith knows Shiro's heart is in the words when he speaks.   
  
"I will love you in life, in death, and in the eternity between."   
  
Shiro's height is such that Keith does not need to kneel, but he does nevertheless, closing his eyes as identical silver is placed atop his hair.  
  
There is applause, and delighted murmuring, but Keith hears nothing but the whisper of fabric as Shiro leans down to kiss him. It is alike every other kiss they have shared, but tinged with the consuming knowledge that this is their first kiss as one being, as two bound together in life and in love, and Keith grasps Shiro's arms, closing his eyes and leaning their foreheads together as they break apart, breathing in each other's space.  
  
Keith does not know how long they stand, but eventually he realises they are alone in the garden.   
  
"I love you," he says helplessly.   
  
"I love you," Shiro echoes. "Would you like to go inside?"  
  
At Keith's nod, Shiro takes his arm and leads him to a great hall, and there is food, and music, and for the first time Keith sees faces in the wisps of spirits, senses the glow of individuals within the incomprehensible clutter of beings.   
  
"I am not a dancer," laughs Keith when Shiro takes his elbow, but before he can complain they are away, turning in circles and lighter than air in the crisp white of their robes.   
  
Shiro delicately avoids Keith's fumbling, and Keith becomes aware before long of dozens of eyes watching them spin together, flushing at the weight of such expectant gazes. Shiro spares them only a glance, and his hand tightens on Keith's.   
  
"Pay them no mind," he reassures, and Keith wonders what he overhears; what secrets the spirits whisper between themselves about the god of death and his new king. "We will dance as long as you like."  
  
"Then I should like to stop," Keith says, but it is in jest, and Shiro's smile widens as Keith allows himself to be twirled, laughing in pure delight, and Keith thinks he could spend forever like this. 

 

* * *

 

It is surprising to Keith when there is a gap in his knowledge of Shiro - a gap often filled with ugly rumours, for Hades was nothing more than a horror story to the common man.   
  
Keith does not know how Shiro would make love to him.   
  
He does not know how Shiro's hands would feel on his body, how Shiro's weight would feel pressing him down, how it would feel to be joined as one in flesh as well as spirit.   
  
These are quaint thoughts, and Keith is aware of his naivety.   
  
He has heard terrible things, of consumption and greed, of shackles and cruel smiles. Shiro is not a violent man, but Keith has eyed the strength of his hands, the muscles concealed under dark clothing, and a part of him has wondered if Shiro might use him like that too.   
  
But Shiro's bedchamber is pleasant, softly lit and sparsely decorated with objects Keith knows are of Shiro's choosing, and he inexplicably feels safe here, wrapped in thriving colour and the promise of his wedding robe. A silver crown rests upon his head but it is not heavy, and Keith feels lighter still when Shiro reaches to pluck it from his head.   
  
"Those are precious, you know," he says, the barest hint of protest in his voice as Shiro discards both their crowns on a table.   
  
"Not as precious as you," says Shiro, and his voice is deep and makes Keith's heart beat a little faster.   
  
His hand moves into Keith's hair, making chaos of what had lain flat before the ceremony, and he kisses Keith hot and wet, the slide of his tongue leaving Keith panting and _wanting_.  
  
"Wait," Keith stammers suddenly, and he takes a step back. The tentative stutter of his voice irritates him, for he is not nervous, and so Keith does not hesitate when he drops his robe to the floor. It pools in white waves about his feet, and something heady and dark pools into Shiro's eyes.   
  
"You are magnificent," Shiro says, and his voice is husky, gaze dragging over Keith's form.   
  
Keith feels a chill - in his helpless full-body shiver; in the stiffening of his nipples in the warm room - but a _heat_ , too, rushing through him like water from a dam, flushing his cheeks and hardening his cock.   
  
Shiro bites his lip hard, and it is there that Keith fixates his gaze as Shiro unclasps his own robe and lets it fall, baring himself to Keith.   
  
Keith is almost afraid to look - he trembles with anticipation but he has frozen on Shiro's face, eyes darting between Shiro's mouth, a tempting pink curve, and his eyes, rapidly growing concerned.   
  
Shiro approaches slowly, as if Keith is a startled animal he is trying to soothe, and Keith takes the hand Shiro offers him, letting him draw him closer.   
  
"You can look," Shiro says, so softly, and it is as though he had given an order for how quickly Keith obeys.   
  
Keith's first instinct is to touch, and he blushes hard as he runs hands tentatively over the flat plane of Shiro's stomach, hearing and watching Shiro's sharp inhale. He moves his hands over the expanse of Shiro's back, feeling the dips and grooves of scars scored deep into the flesh. He touches Shiro's reddened face and kisses him for courage.   
  
His gaze moves to the proud length of Shiro's cock, larger than his own, and it makes Keith's breath catch. He is too nervous to touch, but stares enamoured, caught in thoughts of how Shiro will feel touching a place in Keith no one has ever touched, deep inside and joining them in every way, body and soul.   
  
"You are beautiful, as well," Keith manages. His voice cracks. Shiro smiles. His hand comes to rest upon Keith's hip, and just that innocent touch upon bare flesh makes Keith shudder.   
  
"Do you wish to - "  
  
"Take me to bed," Keith interrupts, and Shiro takes his mouth in a consuming kiss, burning Keith hotter and making him impatient, wanting _more_ , more of Shiro, anything he can have.   
  
"Where do you want me?" asks Keith next, for Shiro does not seem inclined to push further. He had not meant to be enticing, but the breathlessness of his voice makes Shiro's fingers twitch.   
  
"Lie on your back," Shiro says, and Keith's breathing picks up as he approaches the bed, climbing up with only a little difficulty. He feels awkward and fumbling and exposed, but when he lies down, Shiro has ventured closer, his eyes dark. "Good," he says, and the praise runs through Keith like flame.   
  
The sheets are smooth, cool as water, and they are pleasant against Keith's skin when Shiro moves to place a pillow under his hips. The touch of Shiro's hand upon his thigh makes him gasp, but Shiro moves away again, retrieving a jar and holding it cupped between his hands.   
  
Then Shiro stands still and looks upon Keith, and the scrutiny makes him squirm, squeezing his thighs together and resisting the embarrassed need to cover his cock, for he is Shiro's now and Keith desires their union more than anything.   
  
"Come," he says, and reaches for his husband. Shiro goes to him helplessly, discarding the jar on a side table, and Keith holds his breath as Shiro runs hands up his legs, starting at his calves and moving to his thighs, and Keith can't help but open for him then.   
  
"Good," Shiro says again, softly, and it makes Keith flush deeper. Shiro climbs atop him, resting his hands either side of Keith's head and kneeling between his legs, and Keith feels exposed again, waiting. Then Shiro leans down to kiss him, and it is not fast but is _deep_ , consuming and searching as he moves closer and Keith moans as their cocks brush for the first time.   
  
Shiro looks between them - at the length of Keith's cock, flushed and hard; at his chest, trembling with unsteady breaths and the tensing of his stomach muscles - and it is a focused, heady look, bringing heat to Keith's cheeks as Shiro studies him.   
  
It is not enough to prepare him for the hand Shiro wraps around his cock, firm and squeezing, and Keith worries he might come at the touch, tipping his head back and holding tightly to a single thread of control.   
  
"Is that okay?" Shiro murmurs, and Keith can only moan and nod, legs falling further open and inviting Shiro to touch.   
  
Before Keith can react, he is moving - movements steady on Keith's cock, Shiro shifts carefully until he is situated between Keith's legs, face so close to the most intimate part of Keith that he feels he ought to close his legs, cheeks hot with embarrassment.   
  
Shiro touches his thigh. "There is no need for shame," he says gently, and Keith exhales in a long hiss as Shiro takes his hand away.   
  
But then he is reaching for the jar on the table, and suddenly Keith remembers what it is for.   
  
"Oh," he says aloud, quite by accident, and Shiro glances curiously at him.   
  
"What?"  
  
Keith cannot speak the words - that Shiro is going to make Keith slick for him, to open him until he can accept the joining that will make them one - and so he shakes his head, giving Shiro a smile that is bashfully returned.   
  
"Will you take me inside you, my love?" he asks suddenly, and Keith blinks, for he had never wished to say no.   
  
"Yes," he breathes, the sealing of a promise, and that is when Shiro touches a slick finger to his hole.   
  
They moan in the same moment, and Shiro's gaze is a hungry calculation as he begins rubbing slow, slow circles against Keith's opening. There is a pretty flush upon Shiro's cheeks, and Keith reaches down to touch, thumbing Shiro's cheekbone and feeling his smile.   
  
Keith arches when Shiro's finger slides inside him, mouth open as he tries to stay relaxed, to allow him inside. Shiro's eyes are fixed upon his face, and Keith tries, too, to keep his expression blank, for he knows Shiro would stop if he believed him to be in pain.   
  
But Keith does not wish Shiro to stop, and so he grits his teeth against the sting when Shiro slicks his fingers again and slides two inside this time, stretching Keith a little further, a little wider. He looks at Shiro's cock, heavy between his legs, and wonders breathlessly how long it will take to fit, because surely he cannot take -  
  
" _Ah_ ," spills from his mouth without conscious thought, back arching so high off the bed he _feels_  Shiro's fingers slide helplessly deeper with it, and the noise pulled from him is breathy and high-pitched like nothing Keith has heard from himself before.   
  
It is a feeling like lightning in its swiftness and sharpness, in how it travels up Keith's spine and throughout his limbs, a feeling that only intensifies as Shiro curls his fingers, seeming to rub over one precise spot that will not allow Keith to stay still.   
  
Shiro's eyes are wide when Keith can finally spare him a glance, and he asks in hushed tones, "Does that feel good?"  
  
He does not pause in his ministrations, and Keith tries hard to formulate a proper reply, but all he can manage is, " _Yes_ ," shifting his hips and finding he can move with Shiro, thrust down on the fingers inside him. "Oh - what is it?"   
  
There must be something there, Keith thinks hazily. Surely it could not feel so good if there was not.   
  
"A sensitive spot," Shiro says, and his gaze is no longer directed at Keith's face but between his legs, and Keith shifts in embarrassment. It draws Shiro's attention, and he touches his other hand - the one that gleams of metal - to the jut of Keith's hip. "Will you bring your leg up for me?"  
  
The request brings a shiver to Keith's body, and he draws one leg up, placing his foot flat upon the bed. Shiro's hand is on his thigh, directing, guiding, and Keith feels spread open, more vulnerable in his decadent sprawl.   
  
"Have you done this before?" asks Keith. He is only curious, for there is a surety in the movement of Shiro's hands, in how he moves and stretches and curls his fingers in Keith, and there is reassurance in it, in the sense that Shiro knows just how to make it good.  
  
"Yes." Shiro's gaze is cautious, but Keith cannot give the conversation the gravity it deserves, tipping his head back and moaning when Shiro rubs his fingers in a little further.   
  
He does not feel the spark of jealousy he had anticipated, for Shiro is his, now, and what are past lovers in comparison to an eternity?  
  
"You are good at it," Keith gasps, and suddenly he wishes to fill the silence, for there are no words between them and Keith wishes to know his husband's mind in this moment.   
  
Shiro seems to understand. "I only wish to make you feel good," he says seriously, lending the situation a depth of meaning and affection it does not deserve. He could speak the same words across the dinner table, or curled upon the sofa, and yet it is not incongruous here, with Shiro's fingers driving Keith to distraction and desperation.   
  
"You do," Keith mumbles, and he whines when Shiro withdraws, watching him pool more slick onto his fingers. " _Oh_ , you do," he moans when Shiro's fingers return to him, three this time, and Keith does not know if it is the sting or the stretch or Shiro's eyes burning into his but suddenly he is tipping over, spilling hot and white over his chest and drawing his legs up high in ecstasy.  
  
Shiro's breathing comes heavy now, eyes wide and dark pools as his gaze travels the length of Keith's body. Keith's chest heaves with exertion, and he pants for breath even as Shiro continues, three fingers stretching Keith open and occasionally brushing the place that makes Keith see stars.  
  
He seems to lose the steady pace he had been so carefully maintaining, and soon Keith is hard once more, gasping as Shiro's fingers move insistently inside him, moving in circles so smooth Keith wonders  _surely, surely I must be ready by now..._  
  
It seems a lifetime later when Shiro withdraws his fingers a final time, an audible swallow the only sign of his nerves as he carefully puts aside the jar and comes back up to kiss Keith. They are short kisses, barely qualifying for presses of lips, as this close Keith can feel Shiro's stuttering breath and the heart that hammers in his ribs; can see the sweat beading on Shiro's chest and feel the hardness against him that speaks of urgency, speaks of a bone-deep need that cannot be filled with chaste affections.   
  
This becomes evident when Shiro begins to shift, and he is rubbing himself against Keith's thigh, Keith realises, the thought bringing a swell of heat through his body. Of course Shiro would not wish to ask, even now; waits for Keith's permission, always.  
  
"Shiro," Keith says, and the soft, coarse quality of his voice surprises him. "I am ready, now."  
  
"I know," says Shiro, pressing his face against Keith's neck. "I am simply - nervous."  
  
_Nervous_ , thinks Keith, and this, too, surprises him. One day, he promises himself, he will never fall for Shiro's false confidences, will always recognise when Shiro is pretending at bravery - but for now, Keith can reassure him, and it is enough.   
  
"I trust you," Keith says, and he clasps Shiro to him, fingers carding through dark hair. "I have wanted you for so long, and now - "  
  
"Now we will be one," Shiro finishes, lifting his head, and it brings a smile to Keith's face to see the shine of determination in his eyes.   
  
"Yes," Keith breathes.  
  
Shiro shifts, and then shifts again, and then he is pressing inside Keith.   
  
And he is _big_ ; Keith had been right to wonder at how he would take him, for it hurts, a stretch that tilts between pleasure and pain as Keith opens further and further for him, and it lasts forever. Keith cannot keep his eyes open and lets them fall shut as he gasps _S_ _hiro, Shiro, Shiro_ , lets his head tilt back and takes all of him, every inch until he is full.  
  
Tears spill from his eyes and Shiro wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, his own eyes sad and worried as he looks down the length of Keith's body. The pain has made Keith soft, but he guides Shiro's hand to his cock and they move together until Keith has hardened once more.   
  
"How is it?" Shiro asks, so softly Keith can hardly hear him.   
  
"So full," Keith says, for he can say nothing but the truth, and he cannot breathe for how overwhelming it is. Shiro shifts in place, fingers clenched in the sheets beside Keith's head, and the small movement makes Keith groan.   
  
"Please don't move," he says helplessly, and Shiro's eyes go liquid with guilt and tenderness. He strokes Keith's damp hair from his forehead, kisses the tears from Keith's temple, stays still, so very still, to avoid hurting him, until Keith breathes out in one long exhale; pain fading and leaving only pleasure in its wake, stretched wide around Shiro and so, so _full_.  
  
Shiro's eyes are closed tight, creasing at the corners with effort, and Keith touches his face. "You can move," he whispers finally, grateful, and when Shiro remains still, says quietly, "Take me."  
  
The words ignite something in Shiro, for his eyes flash and he bites his lip. Keith had believed himself ready, but he grips Shiro's arms hard when Shiro begins to withdraw, overwhelming sensations racing each other up his spine.   
  
Shiro thrusts shallowly, and it is not enough but Keith knows that all of it would be too much, and so he settles for the slow pace, Shiro moving inside him so gently, ever so carefully up and down until Keith realises he has finally withdrawn all the way.   
  
Their eyes meet at last, and Shiro hesitates for a long moment. He hooks his fingers under Keith's thigh and lifts it, suddenly, and Keith realises what Shiro wants and wraps his leg around Shiro's waist. He feels so open, but so much more connected like this, and it is not a bad feeling.   
  
Shiro pushes back into him slowly, so slowly, and Keith can't help his confusion; he waits for a faster pace, for the impatience of a god for whom the world turns too slowly, but even when it gets _good_ , when the stretch spears Keith in two and lights a fire under his skin, it is still careful.   
  
"Shiro," Keith says impatiently, and he digs his heel into the small of Shiro's back, raising one hand to splay between Shiro's shoulder blades. "I want - please."  
  
"What do you want?" Shiro asks, and when he thrusts back in this time it is a deliberate, dirty grind of his hips, filling Keith in all the right places and forcing a moan from him.   
  
He stares wide-eyed at Shiro, because surely he cannot expect Keith to say the words - but Shiro stares back, moving in a steady, _slow_  rhythm that he must know is driving Keith insane.   
  
"I want - _oh_ ," Keith blurts out, for when Shiro moves his hips he touches the place that feels like lightning, and Keith cannot think. "Faster, please, faster," he cries when Shiro does not relent, and Shiro's smile, dark and satisfied, burns low in his belly.   
  
"You need only ask," he says, deceptively gentle, and the statement is accompanied by a quick _roll_  of his hips that fills Keith so sweetly he could cry from it, and then it continues like that, deep snaps of Shiro's hips as Keith begins to moan and writhe and cling tighter with hands and legs around Shiro's body.   
  
Once he begins to talk he cannot stop, and he tells Shiro breathlessly of how good it is to be filled, of how deep he is inside him, how Keith wants and wants and _wants_  -  
  
Shiro slows and shifts and Keith whines in frustration, but it was only to find that place inside, and now Shiro rubs hard against that spot on every thrust, drawing helpless cries from Keith's throat until he is almost screaming with it, the heat and the slickness and the smooth, continuous motion of Shiro inside him.   
  
"Please," he begs, and is not even sure what he is asking for, but one of Shiro's hands moves to his chest, clever fingers rubbing at his nipples until Keith is whimpering, coiled tight with the need to come, pressure and tension building and winding around his spine as his need and his cries go higher and higher.   
  
"You want it," Shiro gasps, and Keith is not sure what he is referring to either but he nods desperately, the movement indistinguishable from the way they are moving together, and Shiro's hand comes to rest at the base of Keith's throat, only resting but with an implication that makes Keith breathless without being touched.   
  
"Come for me, my love," Shiro murmurs, and his voice cracks as Keith comes hot between them, whole body shivering and clenching and pulsing with it, mouth open and gasping and back arching high enough to press them together.   
  
Shiro's eyes close tightly, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening as he cries out, thrusting once more and coming too, deep inside Keith with his fingers clutching the sheets and Keith wrapped so tightly around him it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

 

* * *

 

It is some time later when Keith finally stirs; he had fallen asleep, and so he wakes empty and colder without Shiro. The room is dark, and no candles flicker in the shadows.   
  
"Shiro," he mumbles, and a hand comes to grasp his. Shiro is lying beside him, and the thought brings warmth to his chest.   
  
"I am here," comes the soft response, and Keith drifts contentedly back into unconsciousness.   
  
He wakes again to the spill of light through thick curtains and a soreness between his legs, blinking for long moments until he remembers where he is; that he is in Shiro's bed, that he is safe.   
  
"I can feel your eyes," Keith murmurs sleepily, and he is right, for when he turns onto his back, Shiro is leant upon his elbow. His gaze is wide and light with wakefulness, and Keith wonders if it has been long since he had woken.   
  
Shiro smiles, and Keith admires him in the morning light, too; eyes moving over his husband's form, breathless and astounded all over again that he got so lucky. He is still too embarrassed to look intimately upon Shiro, but his gaze lights on Shiro's face, on his smile, and Keith smiles too as Shiro shifts closer to him.   
  
He places a thumb on Keith's bottom lip, and the act is so tender Keith closes his eyes.   
  
"Good morning," Shiro says, and replaces his thumb with his lips in a kiss soft and closed-mouthed.  
  
"Good morning," Keith echoes, and the thought occurs to him that this is how he will wake every morning, now: in Shiro's arms, to Shiro's lips and smile, to Shiro's love.   
  
Eternity, Keith thinks, and it is the one word his mind keeps catching on.   
  
Of all the untruths and inaccuracies told of Hades, the legend of his love is perhaps the kindest, though misinformed and intended to be realised through the gaze of an innocent, one who would cast judgement without real understanding of what it meant to love so deeply.   
  
It was said that Hades' love was all-consuming, suffocating, _devastating_ ; that the object of his love would wither under such a gaze, shrouded from the sun. _And how cruel_ , cry the humans, murmur the gods, _to keep a son, a daughter, from their loving parents, from their doting family!_    
  
It was said - in hushed tones; disapproving, critical - that Hades would kill for his love, would raze cities, would sacrifice the world, the humans, the gods, in his unending selfishness, in his desire to keep his possessions close and under a glass jar, trapped and for his gaze alone.   
  
Keith wonders what will be said of him once the news spreads, for he knows it will not be long. Not due to disloyalty - Hades' subjects can never leave the underworld once they have entered, and it will not be their betrayal - but rather once searches of Earth and of the kingdom of the gods are proved futile, there is only one place Keith can be.   
  
And he will not leave.   
  
Keith moves so that he is closer to Shiro, so he can lay his head on Shiro's chest and listen to his beating heart, to his steady breaths. Shiro's hand comes to Keith's hair, carding his fingers through, and Keith wants desperately to kiss him, but the taste of morning is in their mouths and he dare not make the attempt.   
  
They leave their bed eventually, and there is the sight of their rumpled sheets and abandoned clothes, for they had lost themselves to it, to each other, and the evidence of their careless passion brings a flush to Keith's cheeks.   
  
"Are you hurting?" asks Shiro quietly after breakfast, and Keith feels a swell of embarrassment as he shifts in his chair. He does hurt; there is an ache, spreading from the place they were joined and in his thighs too, as though Keith's body is as determined as his mind to never forget the marriage bed they had shared.   
  
"A little," he admits, and then, feeling bold, "But I should like to do it again."   
  
In no time at all they return to Shiro's rooms, and Keith falls on his back with his legs an indecent sprawl and Shiro between them, his kiss hard and biting upon Keith's lips.   
  
When he lowers his head to Keith's neck, Keith feels himself flush helplessly all the way through. Shiro marks him and Keith thinks of possession, of selfishness, of greed, but that is not how it makes him feel.   
  
They lie together panting and sated, and Keith feels as though his heart is full.   
  
"I should like to do that every day," he says lazily, and it startles a laugh from Shiro.   
  
"I only wish to give you everything you want," Shiro says, and it makes Keith laugh as well, but there is something deeper there, a promise. 

 

* * *

 

They do not venture from the castle grounds that day: their marriage is still new and delicate, and Keith adjusts Shiro's silver crown and smiles at him with all the love in his heart. They walk the gardens hand in hand, and Keith asks the names of the flora he does not know and Shiro is happy to teach him, for he too wishes Keith to make a home here.  
  
"Oh," Keith exclaims, for he has pricked his finger upon a rose, and blood beads there. He promptly puts it in his mouth, and the sting disappears.   
  
Shiro's gaze lingers too long on Keith's lips when he turns.   
  
"Would you like me to heal you?" he asks, and Keith hides his smile.   
  
"It was only a thorn." Shiro raises an eyebrow in mock-offense. "Will you kiss it better?" Keith asks laughingly, and in jest he offers his hand.   
  
Shiro kisses it, ever so gently.   
  
A coolness spreads from the touch of his lips, and when Keith looks upon his finger, the pinprick is gone.   
  
"You are life itself," he says admiringly, placing his other hand on Shiro's cheek.   
  
Shiro smiles ruefully. "I do not believe many would agree with you there."   
  
"They do not matter," Keith insists, "and you are my life, not theirs."   
  
Later that day, Shiro gives Keith his apologies, for there is business he must attend to. "Death pauses for no one," Shiro says wryly, kissing Keith's forehead, "not even its god."   
  
So Keith wanders the grounds, the rooms, and after a while he gathers the courage to visit the spirits occupying Shiro's - _their_  - home, the ones who help around the castle and cook and clean, the ones most loyal to Hades and now Hades' king, too.   
  
It is to Keith's delight when he realises he understands the spirits' greetings as he shyly enters the dining hall, a chorus of _hello, hello_  and a swelling feeling of love and acceptance and _home_ , a sensation of gentle hands upon his arms and the impression of smiles, though Keith cannot yet comprehend their faces.   
  
He spends the afternoon there, communicating first through expressions and gestures, and finally through language, and the breakthrough brings waves of relief and happiness, for these are his people. Keith hears their words like an echo in his mind, whispers of _you have Hades' love, so too will you have ours_ , and promises of loyalty, of faith.  
  
It is harder to talk meaningfully, but when Shiro comes to find him Keith is able to try, at the very least, to hold a conversation, and Shiro looks so pleased Keith feels a warm stirring of pride in his chest.   
  
When Keith goes to dress for dinner - for he does have his own room, merely a formality - the robe laid upon his sheets is red, deep crimson. It is Keith's favourite colour, and it becomes Keith's favourite robe, too, when he sees how it draws Shiro's eyes, gaze sliding over Keith's form and going dark, a smile upon his lips as he says, chaste, "You look lovely."   
  
They eat evening meal alone for the first time as those joined in marriage, and Keith can't help smiling, for it seems so long since he had worried over how to accept Shiro's proposal, and now he is here, dining at Hades' table as his husband and king, their feet brushing under the table. Shiro's eyes linger on Keith's exposed and bitten collarbone, for the robe is deeply low-cut, and Keith smiles and pretends not to notice.   
  
He blushes as Shiro's fingers find his thigh where they cannot see, touching in a feather-light fashion, intentionally lingering. Shiro continues until Keith shudders, shifting in his seat, and then Shiro's hand moves up, up, until he is tracing the outline of Keith's cock through his robe, and Keith inhales for the _boldness_  of it, a hot flush coming to his cheeks as he stares at the ornate design of the wall and chews his lip trying not to make noise.   
  
"Are you finished with your plate?" asks Shiro softly, and he takes Keith in a squeezing hold that makes Keith's mouth drop open.   
  
In the _dining room_.   
  
"Mm," he hums, but he does not register Shiro's question until he sees the smile in Shiro's eyes, and nods, embarrassed.   
  
His plate is clean, but even had it been full Keith would have agreed to anything Shiro asked of him.   
  
"Let us go, then," Shiro says, and suddenly his touch is gone and Keith nearly moans with the loss.   
  
He is almost breathless with need by the time Shiro deigns to take his arm and lead them upstairs, looking for all the world like royalty ascending to his throne, but as soon as the door is closed behind them Shiro's false patience is tossed away and he pins Keith to the wall, and Keith can do nothing but tip his head back helplessly.   
  
Shiro trails kisses there - along Keith's jaw, down his throat until he reaches Keith's collarbone, and there he lavishes attention until Keith is panting, driven wild by Shiro's teeth and tongue and breathless with the thought of bearing more of Shiro's marks, of proclaiming to the world who he belongs to.   
  
"Do you like the new robe?" Keith asks shyly, affecting a coy gaze and looking at Shiro from under his eyelashes. His heart thumps in his chest at the prospect of being so flirtatious, sure that he will fail and fumble, but Shiro's eyes go dark.   
  
"Like it?" he asks, and his smile is full of teeth. "Why, I would like nothing better than seeing it on my floor."   
  
In the second Keith takes to grasp his meaning, Shiro's fingers have gone to the clasps at Keith's shoulders, and he waits for Keith's reply like a spring waiting to snap.   
  
"I agree," Keith says, blinking up at him, and his expression is playful, lips pursed as he tries not to smile.   
  
In the next moment, crimson pools heavy about his feet and Shiro's hands are upon his chest, smoothing over his waist, moving down.   
  
Keith is confused when Shiro drops to his knees, gaze indeterminable in the brief eye contact he offers. Shiro smooths the hair from his forehead, a casual gesture incongruous to his position.   
  
It is a strange feeling, to have the god of death kneeling at his feet as though to pray, to _worship_ , and Keith blushes with it, to have Shiro so close to where he is hard and curving towards his belly.   
  
"Shiro, what - "   
  
"Relax," Shiro says, and then he takes Keith's cock in his mouth.   
  
Keith cries out to be engulfed in sudden warm wetness, and his hips twitch uncontrollably but Shiro takes it, hands going to Keith's hips and pressing them against the wall, and Keith breathlessly realises he cannot move, caught in the hotness of Shiro's mouth and moaning as Shiro pulls back with an obscene noise.   
  
Shiro hums and licks his lips and gives Keith no time to breathe before he is taking him in again, tongue pressing tight to the underside of Keith's cock, cheeks hollowing and sucking and Keith thinks he might scream.   
  
He presses his hand to his mouth to stifle his noises, breathing hard through his nose and looking in awe at Shiro as he continues. With his other hand he winds his fingers into Shiro's hair - carefully, so as not to push him - and holds on as his legs tremble.   
  
Shiro pulls off and Keith gasps with the loss, tugging Shiro's hair and hearing his low moan at the contact, but then Shiro says meaningfully, "I want to hear you," and waits until Keith lowers his hand from his mouth, embarrassment coiling with need and making his head spin.   
  
"Good," Shiro says, and it makes Keith flush.   
  
" _Ah_ ," he cries when Shiro takes him back into his mouth, sweet relief and sweeter torture, and Shiro holds tighter to Keith's hips as he tries to squirm. "Shiro - _Shiro_  - "   
  
Shiro doesn't give in, drives Keith to the edge and holds him there, trembling, tonguing Keith's cock before swallowing him down and Keith cries out with it as he comes, clutching helplessly at Shiro's hair and gasping for breath. Shiro stands up, fingers still tracing shapes on Keith's hips and a smirk evident on his face.   
  
When his legs stop shaking, Keith pushes Shiro to the bed - glad Shiro is letting him, for he has no strength left to compete - and crawls atop him, kissing the taste of himself from Shiro's mouth and feeling Shiro's fingers curl tight in his hair.   
  
"You can teach me, now," he says, a little too eager, and Shiro moans as Keith begins to move down his body, pressing wet kisses as he goes, fingers already on the juncture of Shiro's thigh and spreading him just slightly.   
  
"You don't have to - "   
  
"I want to," Keith insists, and he stares at Shiro with all the determination and want he can muster, gaze slipping to take in Shiro's cock, for he is larger than Keith and again Keith is nervous, but he _wants_  it, needs to try, needs to return the pleasure Shiro had given him.   
  
Shiro agrees by sliding his hand into Keith's hair, and Keith leans forward and opens his mouth. 

 

* * *

 

On the second day, they take a picnic basket to a green hill scattered with flowers, to miles of open sky and bees and butterflies, and Keith laughs in delight when Shiro tells him to open his eyes.   
  
"I did not imagine the underworld could hold such views," Keith confesses, looking and looking as though he could never see enough, for the land lays like a map beneath them, fading in gradients of natural green and grey and black, beautiful and unknown. They climb to the top, and Shiro pretends he is not out of breath and Keith laughs at him and takes the basket, swinging their joined hands between them.   
  
They feed each other fruits and cheeses and Shiro kisses him dizzy under a great oak tree, until Keith is laying with his head in Shiro's lap, staring up at the sky with metal fingers carding through his hair.   
  
"I cannot evade my responsibilities forever," Shiro says, and there is sadness in his voice until he adds coyly, "Much as I would like to," touching Keith's waist for emphasis.   
  
"I understand," Keith says earnestly, and he does. Only, he thinks, "I do not wish to waste my days."  
  
"Of course you will not waste your days," Shiro says playfully, smoothing the hair from Keith's forehead. "Do you think I will have you hand-fed on a chaise in front of a window forever?"  
  
Keith pretends to think. "Perhaps if it had a view," he says, laughing, but it is true that he is not one for inactivity. A lifetime under Zarkon's thumb has taught him that.   
  
Shiro gives Keith the gardens.   
  
"For me?" Keith says, and he stares over the expanse of the grounds in awe.   
  
"For you, god of spring," Shiro says, touching Keith's cheek, and Keith smiles up at him.   
  
So that is how Keith fills his days, for it is his to nurture and love, and Shiro has entrusted it to him. It is nothing like Zarkon's rigid fences and strict routine, but huge and sprawling, filled with every flora imaginable and then some, for Keith is still learning their names, aided by the chatter of the flowers and trees and plants that warm quickly to him, that lean down and whisper in his ears as he walks among them.  
  
They do not often speak of Zarkon, but Keith knows Shiro feels a certain guilt - not at freeing Keith, no - but rather for the way Keith's life had changed so quickly. He asks often if Keith is content, if he is happy, and it is tiresome to promise _yes_ , every time, but he knows Shiro means well.  
  
"I do not wish his death," Keith says quietly. They had been sitting in silence, but Keith has been thinking on Zarkon recently. He is still frightened, thoughts of cages and confinement heavy in his mind, but Zarkon is far from here and Keith cannot find it in his heart to really, _truly_  hate him. He is content never to see him again, but his death would bring Keith no pleasure, either.  
  
"Good," Shiro says. There is pride there, and a light-heartedness when he says, "For then he would join us here."  
  
"Here?" Keith doesn't know where he had assumed gods go after death, but to join humans in the underworld seems too - ordinary.  
  
"No one is above death," Shiro says, and his grim tone makes Keith swallow nervously, suddenly thinking of the most wicked of beings, for he is in their country, after all - gods who were once above death, and fell.   
  
"I know of the Titans," he offers uncertainly, for he is less educated than Shiro in these matters, but he has some knowledge of histories and legends and myths, was always fascinated by tales of the gods he had never been allowed to meet.  
  
"A terrible time," says Shiro, voice tight.  
  
"You hold them here," Keith says; he knows that much. "Tartarus."  
  
Curiosity must be prevalent in his tone; Shiro's arm tightens around him. "I would not like to take you there."  
  
"I am not a child."  
  
Keith listens to the thump of Shiro's heartbeat under his ear. "I know that," Shiro says after a time, considering his words carefully. "But it is a place of suffering and evil, Keith; not somewhere I would wish to bring you."  
  
"These are my lands too," Keith says, and he shifts so Shiro has to meet his gaze. "I would know them as you know them."  
  
Shiro's eyes are heavy and sad, but he agrees.  
  
The day they venture to Tartarus is cold and damp, for Shiro's misery is tangible in his face and in the sky, but he has only warmth for his king, drawing a thick cloak around Keith's shoulders and joining their hands.   
  
They go most of the way in a chariot, but Shiro stops them at a river, petting the noses of crumbling skeletal horses as he sends them away and approaches a bridge. He takes a breath, and tightens his grip on Keith's hand. It is to reassure himself more than Keith, Keith thinks, and he squeezes back, drawing the hood of his cloak further over his face.  
  
"We will not go inside," Shiro tells him, and his voice is hard enough that Keith knows not to disagree. "I will not risk you just to sate your curiosity."  
  
There is bitterness in his tone, and it grates on Keith's nerves; Shiro cannot coddle and protect him from the horrors of the world, of _his_  world, forever, and he would do well not to try and hide Keith away the way Zarkon had done.  
  
But Keith does not pick him up on it, for this visit will be heavy enough without strife between them, too.  
  
"How is it managed?" he asks instead.  
  
"It requires very little intervention on my part," Shiro says, and he suddenly looks very tired. "It is rare I have to visit."  
  
"Will you tell me when you do?" Keith asks imploringly. The further they walk, the more _wrong_  Keith feels, as though he is shifting in his skin, drawing rattling breath through punctured lungs, taking steps with bones that shatter and break.  
  
"You will be able to tell," Shiro says darkly. "I will carry it home with me, on my skin, inside. It permeates, corrupts."  
  
"Would it - corrupt me?"   
  
Keith's very soul quivers at the thought; he imagines drowning in black smoke and swallowing ash, imagines darkness like a noose around his neck, like ants crawling across his skin.   
  
"It could," Shiro says, and when his hand tightens on Keith's, all of the abnormalities lift from Keith's skin, a coolness overtaking him and allowing him to breathe. "But I will never let it."  
  
The air grows thick and stale with smoke the closer they get, and Keith can taste it in the back of his throat, itching and choking. Shiro casts him worried glances, dropping their hands and putting his arm around Keith instead, drawing him close.  
  
There is a gate when they enter, but the landscape does not change.  
  
"Where is it?" Keith asks. His mouth is dry.  
  
"Underground," Shiro says, and he gestures with his hand.   
  
When Keith steps forward, he steps forward alone.  
  
There are no sounds, but the silence is worse, louder than any noise could hope to be; as though there is no breath left to scream, or those who would scream know with dread that there would be no answer.  
  
Keith sees no tortured souls, but it is as if he can _feel_  them; he grows heavier and heavier as he walks, soul pulled in a thousand different directions - _help me, help me_  - and shadows flow thick around him, wreathing his ankles and wrapping cool, reassuring fingers around his throat.  
  
It was cold before, but now the chill seeps into Keith's bones and he creaks as he wanders, aching and torn. The vegetation is dead, dry roots curling up in fear as Keith approaches; everything appears murky, colour lost to swirling masses of grey, dust and powder like dregs of tea drying out the tongue.  
  
Their walk back is silent. Keith feels as though his footsteps are heavy, crunching loud in the ground as he walks with death. His soul feels weighted, as though each step from Tartarus tugs on rope binding him to the suffering he had witnessed. Shiro's hand is heavy in his, too, metal fingers folded tight around Keith's and giving him the strength to keep walking, to pull from the irresistible thread.  
  
Keith only feels free of darkness when Shiro commands open their great front doors, and they go to the lounge, where Shiro sits down as though he has been walking for days. Keith paces.  
  
"Was it to your satisfaction?" Shiro asks, and his tone is - not mocking, but it is cruel, and Keith's lip curls.  
  
"What were you going to do," he asks listlessly, sitting stiffly in a hard-backed chair, "keep me in your castle forever?"  
  
Perhaps Shiro realises the behaviour he is exhibiting, for his eyes go suddenly wide and ashamed before he looks at the floor. "Of course not, I - "  
  
"You wished to hide me away from the world?" Keith asks, voice rising in volume. "Is that protection, to you?"  
  
"I only wish to keep you safe," Shiro says quietly, and when he stands, Keith does too. "I did not mean to overstep, or to cage - "  
  
"Cage," Keith mutters, and Shiro steps closer to him. Keith glares, but stands his ground, and allows Shiro to put his hands on his shoulders.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I'm sorry I tried to restrict you. It was - selfish of me."  
  
"All I have ever wanted is freedom," Keith snaps, but he mellows with Shiro's words. "Even the freedom to experience pain."  
  
"Pain like that will never touch you," Shiro promises. He moves slowly, and Keith allows Shiro to kiss him once, sweetly on the lips; only a beginning to the apology owed him, but Keith knows it is a lesson that need be taught only once. "I promise."

 

* * *

 

They are clearing breakfast, warm in the soft morning and abuzz with energy, for today they plan to remain in the library; Shiro says he will move books he no longer has need of, while Keith privately doubts he will actually allow Shiro to relocate any.   
  
But Shiro's expression turns dark suddenly like thunderclouds blinding the sun, and he straightens, head turned towards the great front doors.   
  
Seconds later, there is a knock, loud and intruding, and the sense that washes over Keith is stale, drying his mouth and trembling his fingers.   
  
"Zarkon," Shiro tells him, but somehow Keith already knew.   
  
Keith had watched the light rise that morning, painting the sky a thousand colours of pink and orange and yellow, but now it falls grey, as though someone has spilled filthy water across the sky. Shiro's fists are clenched at his sides, and Keith takes his hands and uncurls his fingers, tracing the whorls of his fingerprints.   
  
It does not calm the sky, but Shiro's expression softens, and he tucks a lock of Keith's hair behind his ear.   
  
"Would you like me to go to him?" he asks.   
  
Keith's response is immediate. "Together," he says. He will not let Shiro fight his battles, but it gives him strength to have Shiro at his back.   
  
Every step is a difficult one; it is hard, so hard, to walk towards Zarkon when Keith thought with absolute certainty he had walked away. The journey through the castle seems longer than usual as they make their way to the front door, and Keith takes Shiro's hand and squeezes it.   
  
The doors open on Shiro's command, and the sky cracks with lightning, and Keith sees Zarkon at last, looming and dangerous, and feels a piercing fear like a needle in his heart.   
  
"I would speak with my son," says Zarkon, sweetly, as though he has not just disrupted the entire underworld with his presence.   
  
The sky trembles as Shiro regards him.   
  
"You are not welcome here," Shiro says, and his words are sharp like a knife-edge, the same gleaming silver as his eyes. Zarkon's gaze remains on Keith.   
  
Keith steps beside Shiro and puts a hand on his arm, placating.   
  
"You do not speak for me," Keith tells him gently, and Shiro exhales and nods. He moves back, half a step behind Keith, and Keith straightens, looking Zarkon in his cold eyes.   
  
"Keith," he says, and there is sadness there that might once have tugged at Keith's sympathies. "I knew darkness had touched you - could sense the stain on your heart - but this?"   
  
Keith stares at him, for his heart is hardened, now, and he does not care for Zarkon's pretty words.   
  
"If I had known _he_  had stolen you away - "   
  
"Shiro did not _steal_  me away."   
  
"He has deluded you, then."   
  
"He has not!" shouts Keith suddenly, his anger swelling and bursting like the clouds above; rain begins to fall, and Keith hopes desperately that there will not be tears in Shiro's eyes when he turns.   
  
Even when Keith has eluded and escaped his control, Zarkon still seeks to reel Keith back to him, as though he is a brainless fish whose attention is caught by shiny bait and the false promise of more. "It is my _choice_ ," Keith says, quieter, for he regrets his outburst, "and if you were truly my father, you would respect that."   
  
Keith had never disbelieved Shiro when he told him of Zarkon's infertility, but when Zarkon says nothing, glancing at the ground, Keith feels something in him finally crumble.   
  
"So it is true," Keith says, almost to himself. He hears Shiro exhale.   
  
Zarkon does not even grace him with a response. "Come home with me, Keith, and we will start over."  
  
"I will not return with you," Keith says, for he had made his choice long ago, and Zarkon could not sway it if he tried. "This is my home."   
  
Zarkon smiles a terrible smile, and Keith cannot decipher its meaning.   
  
"You shall have your wish," he says, and Keith raises his chin defiantly. "May your _love_ ," Zarkon spits the word, "be as long as your days."   
  
Keith steps back so he is level with Shiro, and takes his husband's hand. 

 

* * *

 

It was too simple, Keith thinks.   
  
But as weeks pass and no news comes, he relaxes again. He knows Shiro is still tense and wary of Zarkon returning; for the first time there are sentries at the gates, and the spirits are more solemn. Shiro does not attempt to be overbearing again, but he keeps Keith as close as he can, a hand on his elbow or at his waist as they walk, and though Keith does not feel coddled - for he would tell Shiro so if he did - he is concerned for _Shiro_.   
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Keith tells him quietly one night. They are lying in bed, and despite facing away, Keith knows Shiro's gaze is intent on him, as though he might disappear at any moment. He turns over, and Shiro looks away guiltily. "Come here," Keith says softly, and Shiro goes easily into his arms, tucking his head beneath Keith's chin and wrapping himself around Keith as tightly as he can.   
  
"I don't want to lose you," Shiro says, muffled, and Keith breathes out in a long exhale.   
  
"You will not," he promises. "I won't leave you."   
  
Hermes visits not one week later.   
  
Shiro's expression goes tight, and he moves in front of Keith, despite Hermes posing them no threat, and no ill will. Keith steps around him, and Shiro realises his mistake, reaching down to link their hands instead, for Hermes will deliver the first real news of the rulers of the underworld, and they are united, always.   
  
"Hermes," Shiro says, and his tone is wary but not hostile.   
  
"Hades," Hermes returns. "Persephone," he acknowledges Keith, and Keith stands a little straighter. "Congratulations on your marriage, on behalf of all the gods."   
  
It is an insult to Shiro that this congratulations comes so late - for it has been many happy months, now - but Keith knows Shiro does not care for the opinions of his peers, and so Keith does not, either, though it is difficult to cast off negative opinions of the one he loves.   
  
"Thank you," Shiro says warmly. Behind them, Keith feels their guards approaching, and watches Hermes' smile waver as the sentries phase through the wall. It brings him satisfaction which he dutifully keeps from his expression.   
  
"Thank you," Keith echoes.   
  
"That is not why I have come," Hermes says, regret heavy in his voice, and he does not pause before continuing, "Demeter is starving the Earth."   
  
There is a short, horrified silence, and then Shiro ventures, "Starving the Earth?"   
  
"The fruits of human labour grow tough and inedible," says Hermes. "The fields do not drink, plants wither and die; he is making dust bowls of once flourishing farms, and the humans do not understand why he has forsaken them."   
  
Keith knows why. "What has he asked?"   
  
Hermes looks apologetic. "For your safe return, my lord," he says, and Shiro's grip on Keith's hand tightens to the point of pain.   
  
But he does not attempt to speak for Keith, and Keith squeezes his hand before saying, "I see."   
  
"Do you have an answer?" Hermes asks, and he truly does look sorry, eyes lingering on their joined hands and no doubt the dark expression on Shiro's face, but Keith is not looking at Shiro.   
  
"I do not," Keith says, as sweetly as he can manage.   
  
"Do you come on behalf of Demeter?" asks Shiro, and Keith senses the coiled anger in his tone.   
  
"No," says Hermes. "I come on behalf of the gods whose charges Demeter is threatening. He - will not communicate with us."   
  
To ignore the gods, to ignore _Zeus_  - Keith realises with a sinking guilt and horror the lengths Zarkon is willing to go to; wilfully defying the gods, starving the Earth in his vast selfishness, and all to retrieve what is not truly his.   
  
Keith realises as well that he is trembling.   
  
"Very well," Shiro says when Keith remains silent, and he exhales slowly, relieved. "It will be taken under consideration. Thank you, Hermes."   
  
It is a dismissal, and Hermes takes it as one. "Hades," he says, nodding to them, "Persephone. It was good to see you."   
  
Later, Shiro paces their lounge and mutters, "Good to see me. No one has come here in years, Keith, and he brings us _this_ news - "   
  
"Shiro - "   
  
"He wants to take you away!" Shiro shouts. "And he uses the humans to guilt you into it!"   
  
Keith breathes in sharply. "Shiro," he says imploringly, and Shiro turns hard eyes upon him that soften at his expression.   
  
"I'm sorry," Shiro says stiffly. "But he can't just - "   
  
"I know." He comes when Keith reaches for him, and Keith closes his eyes when Shiro kisses his forehead. 

 

* * *

 

"You are still in bed," comes Shiro's voice from the doorway, and Keith pulls the duvet down so he can see.   
  
"I tended to the garden," he protests, and Shiro raises an eyebrow and waits, "...and _then_  I returned to bed."   
  
"Keith," Shiro says, and when his eyes turn sad Keith looks away.   
  
"People are dying because of me, Shiro." It is shameful to admit it; to admit that he _knows_ , and prolongs it still, while he agonises over his selfish happiness versus the survival of - of _millions_.   
  
"People are not dying," Shiro says tentatively. Keith supposes he would know best.  
  
"People are _suffering_!" he exclaims instead, and childishly pulls the sheet over his head again.   
  
He feels the bed dip as Shiro sits beside him, resting a hand on Keith's waist over the duvet. Shiro sighs, and gently tugs the sheet away.   
  
"The choice is your own," Shiro says gently. They have not evaluated the matter at length, and Keith thinks they really ought to have this discussion at a time when he is not behaving immaturely and Shiro is not merely humouring him. "I will love you no matter your decision. Always."   
  
The words bring tears to Keith's eyes. "But if I cannot see you - "   
  
"You will," Shiro says firmly. "I will not allow him to keep you from me."   
  
Keith swallows and nods, and Shiro touches his cheek. "Will you come downstairs with me now?" he asks laughingly, and Keith's heart is heavy, but he acquiesces.   
  
Shiro had been irritated by the gods' request, for they would not limit Zarkon's power yet would ask Shiro to give up his love, and Keith listens to him a while, sitting with Shiro's head in his lap and running his fingers through dark hair.   
  
But Zarkon's request is far less polite, and he does not waste time with pretty words.   
  
They receive him in the great hall the next morning, after a night of reaffirming their love and remaking promises perhaps unable to be kept. Keith had not worn a high-necked robe, and he feels Zarkon's gaze light on the marks littered over his collarbone, but he makes no comment. Keith is almost disappointed.   
  
"Hades and Persephone," Zarkon says, and distinguished titles sound mocking from his lips. "I suppose you have not yet tired of one another."   
  
Keith struggles between sarcasm and severity for a moment before deciding on, "We have not."   
  
"A shame," Zarkon says. "But you will."   
  
"You will not tear us apart," Keith says boldly. "We are bound for eternity, and the selfish actions of one god could never hope to break that."   
  
"You are quiet, Hades," Zarkon says, turning hard eyes away from Keith, and Shiro straightens. "Do you let your bride speak for you now?"   
  
Keith fears for Shiro's temper, but Shiro only smiles. "Our lives are one," he says. "We speak as one."   
  
It is diplomatic and heartwarming all at once, Keith thinks, and he relishes the twitch in Zarkon's expression.   
  
"You wish to stop the small talk? Very well." Zarkon looks between them with a cruel smile. "You will return with me, Keith, or the Earth will wither and die."   
  
A cold fist closes around Keith's heart, but his first thought is to look to Shiro.   
  
"Hades will be too busy with the many, many human souls to have time for you, Persephone," Zarkon adds, and Shiro's expression strikes fear into Keith.   
  
Darkness and cruelty is evident in his face, and in that moment, he does look the very picture of the god of horrors and terrors, the god who enslaved the helpless extinguished souls, the god who sat upon his throne gleaming above the struggles of the dead; the god every being, living and not, is too afraid to even murmur about, let alone speak his name.   
  
The entire world is on Keith's shoulders, and again his instinct is to place a hand on Shiro's arm, for Shiro has drawn himself up in tension, and anger bleeds from his very soul.   
  
"You cannot do that," Keith says, but the rationale behind his thought is flawed. What can Zeus do, truly?   
  
"What can Zeus do?" Zarkon says, repeating Keith's damning thoughts back to him. "Besides, for only one soul...which do you think Zeus will favour, the Creation or _you_?"   
  
_I will go_ , Keith thinks with a sinking horror. _I will go for the humans, for Shiro. There is no other way_.   
  
"Besides, I know you well, Keith," Zarkon says. "You will not rest until you know the truth."   
  
"To what do you refer?" asks Shiro. Keith senses his patience is waning.   
  
"Persephone," Zarkon begins, and Keith bristles with the use of his title, "who else in the underworld, sea, and sky knows of your true family?"   
  
Keith stands up before he can help himself, acidic anger rising and boiling in his throat.   
  
"Yes," Zarkon continues. "So much of the world you have not seen, so much of yourself you do not know - and you squander your life in the underworld with a winged beast."   
  
_Shiro_ , Keith thinks blindly. _He is referring to Shiro_.   
  
It is only Shiro's hand at his waist that stops him from his impulse. To do what, he does not know - to leap at Zarkon, attack him, beat him, perhaps. A fruitless endeavour, but one that would bring such satisfaction.   
  
"I have heard the lord of the dead loves you to death," Zarkon says. "And it is true. You are already dead, here, and for nobody but him. You can stop this, Keith. Come with me and find out the truth."  
  
Keith trembles, but of fear or anger he does not know.  
  
"You shall have three days." Zarkon smiles as he stands. "Think of the humans, Persephone. Think of your family."  
  
Shiro does not see him out.  
  
Instead, as Zarkon leaves, Shiro takes Keith to the throne room, fallen out of use as the world moved on and Hades no longer took petitions to return life to those who asked it, for it was decided that human life must be given greater value and the gods could no longer play with mortality like a well-loved toy.  
  
"It is more symbolic, now," Shiro tells him. Keith is silent, and his only tie to reality is in their joined hands.  
  
The thrones are of equal size, he realises when he looks up, and it brings warmth to his heart. Hades' throne is crueller - black and twisted, with gargoyles at the shoulders - but the throne of the second ruler is twisted as well, just as large and frightening, with the same aura of power and intimidation.  
  
"I did not wish to show you them," Shiro admits. "I locked them away many years ago, for who would wish to rule with me if they saw what might become of their soul?"  
  
Keith ignores him, running his hand over the arm of the second ruler's throne. The design of icicles lies wickedly sharp underneath, and the arms themselves are bound with black marbled ropes. There are hooks to allow decoration with weapons, and Keith imagines a darker time when Hades sat tall upon his throne and made life-changing decisions in the blink of an eye.  
  
"May I sit?" he asks without turning around, and hears Shiro's intake of breath.  
  
"Yes," comes the answer.  
  
There are steps, for the throne is so high, and Keith climbs them with trepidation, heart beating out of his chest. Not from nerves, but perhaps the expectation of it all; that he _is_  the king of the underworld, and this is where he would reign.   
  
He settles slowly, rests on the arms of the throne, straightens his back, and looks down at Shiro. There is a power in it, in being higher not just in status but literally too, and Keith feels a swell of pride, suddenly.   
  
"No one has sat on that throne but you," Shiro says, and he sounds awed.   
  
"Would you kneel for me?" Keith asks playfully.   
  
"Without hesitation," Shiro says, and as Keith stares a little longer, Shiro does go to his knees. "It is where you belong." Keith's breath hitches, and suddenly a part of him feels like crying.   
  
"I know," he whispers, and stares down at Shiro's dark hair, bowed for him, and wonders, _How could I possibly leave?_

 

* * *

 

They waste a day of precious time before Shiro comes to him with an idea.   
  
It is the next afternoon, and Keith is reading, though his attention is caught when Shiro enters the room, flanked by spirits, as the fear of invasion is still fresh in their minds and the circle Shiro extends his trust to has tightened considerably.   
  
Keith is concerned, for a sense of apprehension is heavy in the guards and echoes thickly in Shiro, whose trepidation is clear on his face as he places a platter of fruit upon the table. There are strawberries, and blackberries, and pomegranate seeds, but Keith could not care less for food when his love is spilling over with nerves.   
  
"What is it?" he asks uneasily. The spirits fade from the room at the sound of his voice, and Keith's uneasiness rises.   
  
"What if you could stay?" Shiro blurts out.   
  
Keith is sure all the breath drains from his lungs.   
  
"How?"   
  
"Eat."   
  
The look in Shiro's eyes is something of a challenge; a test, as though all their time together came down to this very moment, to the final choice Keith will make.   
  
"Eat," Keith repeats hollowly.   
  
For even since their marriage, Keith has eaten of Earth's food still, never of the underworld's; Shiro had wished to allow him a choice, still, for once a soul is tethered to the underworld there can be no returning.   
  
Keith is not mortal, but the underworld changes the soul, it is said, and Shiro had been reluctant to discuss the subject, so Keith had not pushed.   
  
He looks at the platter, at the seeds red like blood. Shiro's gaze is still fixed unerringly on him.   
  
"I will," Keith says, and it comes out as a whisper. "I will," he repeats, and when he meets Shiro's eyes they are wide and hesitant, like he cannot believe it.   
  
Shiro comes to sit beside him, and they look upon the fruit together.   
  
And it is everything Keith has wanted, and everything that will save him now, but still he is nervous, for he does not wish Shiro to regret his offer.   
  
"How many should I eat?" Keith asks, and he reaches for the pomegranate seeds.   
  
"As many as you would like," Shiro says.   
  
"Choose for me."   
  
Shiro feeds him six - six seeds, Keith thinks, for six months - and he tastes the sweet burst of them on his tongue and thinks they taste of eternity.   
  
Keith wonders if there is a change happening in him; if his soul is transforming, twisting before Shiro's eyes, but if it is, Shiro does not show it.   
  
Instead, Shiro takes Keith's hand and leads him upstairs, and Keith's heart is beating out of his chest, because he is _staying_.   
  
It is when the door closes behind them that the air of desperation peaks, and Keith finds his back hitting the wall as Shiro kisses him hungrily, as though he could never get enough, as if they could do this forever.   
  
"Let me have you," Shiro gasps between kisses, "let me have you tonight, please - "   
  
"Yes," Keith manages, and his fingers slip at Shiro's shoulders when Shiro _lifts_  him, carries him to the bed and lays him there so carefully Keith trembles all over again with Shiro's strength, with his love.   
  
It is not long before Shiro returns to him, struggling with the laces of Keith's robe and finally throwing it without care to the floor, his own robe following seconds later and they kiss again, stretched full-length and touching everywhere.   
  
Shiro fumbles with the jar and then Keith gasps to feel Shiro's slick fingers at his entrance, the first an easy glide that Keith rocks into, wanting more, wanting Shiro, and he bites Shiro's lip and tugs when Shiro goes no faster.   
  
"It's okay," Shiro says, and he is trembling, and Keith is uncertain which of them he means to reassure. The sting of the second finger has him gasping, however, and Shiro kisses Keith's neck and shushes him as Keith moans and grabs helplessly at his shoulders.   
  
But the third tears a fevered cry from his lips as Shiro stretches him open, sliding deeper and curling his fingers to find the spot inside Keith that lights him up like a beacon.   
  
"Please," Keith finds himself gasping, "please, I'm ready - "   
  
"Okay," Shiro whispers, kissing Keith's jaw, his cheek, his temple. "Okay."   
  
And then Shiro sits back and encourages him up, and when Keith is on his knees Shiro lays back in the sheets, leaning against the headboard.   
  
"Come," Shiro says, and reaches for him. Keith straddles him uncertainly, knowing what Shiro must want but not sure how to -   
  
Shiro moves him forward a little, and then he reaches and guides his cock to Keith's hole, not quite breaching him but just the blunt press is enough to make them both moan.   
  
"Sit down," he says quietly, and Keith flushes and obeys.   
  
Shiro stays still, and Keith goes as slow as he likes, savouring the stretch as he takes Shiro inside him. Shiro's hands are on his hips but not gripping, and his fingers twitch as Keith sinks down, a moan catching in his throat.   
  
"Shiro," Keith manages, because it is so much _deeper_ , taking it like this, touching places inside never touched before. He isn't sure where to place his hands, and Shiro takes them in his and presses them to his chest, giving Keith balance enough to start moving his hips, and Shiro _moans_ , his eyes falling closed and Keith stares at him in awe.   
  
He moves clumsily at first, for it is more difficult than he had imagined, but eventually Keith works up a rhythm in the circling of his hips and movement of his thighs, and Shiro's hands go back to his hips and squeeze, breaking Keith's concentration as he moves harder, tense with the effort but moaning on every thrust as Shiro slides so deeply inside him.   
  
"You look so beautiful," Shiro breathes, and Keith goes red with more than exertion.   
  
He's close, wet with how much he is leaking over them both, but Shiro doesn't move to touch him, lets Keith bounce himself up and down until his thighs ache and he feels electric all over, cries startled from his lips as Shiro's cock nudges that place inside him.   
  
Tears spring to his eyes with how good it feels, but suddenly Keith is shaking, fingers digging into Shiro's chest as he tries to ground himself, and he is still moving even as Shiro grips him and brings him to a stop, though there are tears in Shiro's eyes too.   
  
"Keith," he murmurs, so gently, and Keith squirms in his grasp and tries to keep going, because he _needs_  it - needs to feel Shiro inside him, to join them as one, because their love has a limit, now, and Keith doesn't want to waste a second.   
  
"Let me," he says, frustrated, tears threatening to spill over. "Shiro - "   
  
But Shiro's grip tightens and suddenly Keith finds himself on his back, gasping from the change in position and gasping as Shiro moves inside him again.   
  
"Good?" Shiro asks quietly, and he moves himself so he is pressing Keith down.   
  
Keith nods quickly and brings one hand to Shiro's shoulders, clinging.   
  
When he starts to thrust again, it is a different angle and harder, faster than Keith could manage, and Keith throws an arm over his face, overwhelmed to see Shiro's eyes, liquid too with sadness.   
  
"Look at me, my love," Shiro breathes, and he takes Keith's hand and interlocks their fingers and presses them beside Keith's head, moving in a slow, hard grind of his hips that makes Keith's toes curl, and as he raises his legs around Shiro's waist he goes faster, lowering his head to Keith's neck and _biting_  and Keith moans at the sudden assault. "I love you," Shiro whispers suddenly against his neck, and Keith shudders.   
  
"Please," he cries, for it has been too long teasing and he _needs_. "Please, I love you, I love you - "   
  
Shiro gives him what he wants, for he always gives Keith what he wants, and Keith trembles and squeezes his thighs around Shiro's waist and cries _yes, yes_ , tears finally slipping down his cheeks as Shiro moves deeper in him, nudging the lightning spot inside him harder and harder until -   
  
"Come," Shiro murmurs, and Keith _screams_  and comes hard, all over himself, all over both of them, eyes squeezing helplessly shut and legs clinging around Shiro's waist, back arched as though he could not bear to touch the bed.   
  
And Shiro keeps going, wringing soft cries from Keith as Shiro finds pleasure in his overwhelmed body, little _ah, ah_  sounds as Shiro kisses him and kisses him and finally comes with a drawn-out moan, panting and pliant when Keith pushes him over onto his back, still buried deep inside.   
  
Trembling like a leaf, he thinks perhaps it was similar to dying, and to being born again.   
  
"Come back to me, my love," Shiro says quietly later, bringing Keith's hand to his lips.   
  
"I will," Keith whispers. "I always will." 

 

* * *

 

When Zarkon comes two days later as promised, they receive him in the throne room.   
  
"What have you _done_?" asks Zarkon in horror, and Keith looks down at him, so small from a great height, and swells with smugness.   
  
"Truly, something I should have done a long time ago."   
  
"Now you are darkness itself," says Zarkon, and the repulsion in his voice makes Keith smile.   
  
It was said that Hades appeared to mortals with great black wings, bat wings; twisted horns and glowing gold eyes; tall and fierce and a true emblem of the underworld mortals so fear. His claws are wicked, stained red and dripping with blood, and the spade of his tail ends in a deadly point, eager to tear into chests or throats.   
  
Keith wonders how a human would look upon him, now; if his eyes have lightened to a cruel gold, if his features have twisted and elongated until he is a nightmare, too, cruelty bleeding from his claws and tail curled like a noose upon the floor.   
  
The image gives him satisfaction.   
  
He squeezes Shiro's hand and watches Zarkon's gaze move with disgust between them.   
  
"So you will not leave."   
  
"He cannot," says Shiro coldly.   
  
"But there is a limit," Zarkon says. "The curse will run out, won't it?" Keith exchanges a glance with Shiro. They cannot lie.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"There is darkness in you once more," says Zarkon, "but I can still sense the good. We can find it together, Keith."   
  
Keith feels like screaming.   
  
"We will not," he says defiantly, and Zarkon's mask flickers, his eyes hard and sharp like black diamonds.   
  
When he next speaks, it is addressed to Shiro. "How long?"   
  
"Six months," says Shiro, and he is regal when Keith looks at him, his back straight and flanked by stone gargoyles, eyes blank and piercing.   
  
And gods, how Keith loves him.   
  
"In six months, I will come back for you, Keith," Zarkon says, and Keith raises his chin defiantly. "Remember the humans."   
  
"Unlike you, I do care for the humans," Keith says flatly. He takes a breath to remain calm, but his heart hammers at the prospect - there is a _time limit_ , now, ticking away until Keith is torn from his home and his love. "And I will see you in six months, Demeter."   
  
Zarkon's visit leaves them somber, and they return to the lounge, painfully aware that it is no longer forever.   
  
Shiro holds him close, and Keith tucks his face against Shiro's neck.   
  
"I will find a way to stop it," Shiro says darkly, and he kisses Keith's hair. Keith sighs, a quiet exhalation of breath, and Shiro tilts his chin up so they are looking at each other. "Do you wish me to do so?" he asks seriously, and Keith knows that if he refused, Shiro would not lift a finger in harm.   
  
"Yes," Keith says quietly. He knows with this statement he has condemned Zarkon, but the concept no longer brings him regret or pain.   
  
"Then I will," says Shiro, and he tightens his arm around Keith's waist. "I would tear apart the world for you."   
  
"You would not be remembered fondly," Keith says, but there is a warmth in his chest from knowing the depth of Shiro's love for him, the lengths that he would go to.   
  
And Hades' love _is_  like the stories after all - destructive, and selfish - but towards the rest of the world, and never Keith, for Keith knows that if he asked, Shiro would lay down his arms and his anger and kneel at Keith's feet.   
  
But Keith will not ask.   
  
"I do not care for how I am remembered," Shiro says, and he takes Keith's hand. "I care for you."

**Author's Note:**

> i started this monster on june 12th and finished it july 16th and i'm just wow. now it's out in the world
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and subscribe to my profile or this series if you'd like to read more of my sheith month fics!
> 
> you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith, and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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